The Girl with the Pearl Pin Read online

  Founded by the wealthiest woman in London, an unconventional crime-solving club brings together single lords and overlooked ladies from every rung of society. It’s a perfectly scandalous match . . .

  As London’s most sought-after bachelor, the Duke of Leomore stuns society when he announces his engagement to a woman who has just been branded a thief. Yet as his painfully shy “bride-to-be” understands, it is merely a ruse until The Society for Single Ladies apprehends the true culprit—and a ploy to further delay Leo’s obligation to wed. For him, marriage will be a purely practical affair. Still, why does a stolen kiss with his faux fiancée conjure such tempting visions of romance?…

  As if being falsely accused weren’t mortifying enough, Phoebe North is now the talk of the town. And while she knows Leo did the honorable thing to protect her reputation, she can’t help but long for more. It would be an impossible match given their unequal stations, and Leo has made his view of marriage quite clear. Yet his kiss and flirtatious ways say something else. If only she could persuade him of how delightful it would be to thumb their noses at convention—and become fools for love…

  Visit us at www.kensingtonbooks.com

  Books by Lynne Connolly

  The Society of Single Ladies

  The Girl With the Pearl Pin

  The Shaw Series

  Fearless

  Sinless

  Dauntless

  Boundless

  The Emperors of London Series

  Rogue in Red Velvet

  Temptation Has Green Eyes

  Danger Wears White

  Reckless in Pink

  Dilemma in Yellow

  Silk Veiled in Blue

  Wild Lavender

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

  The Girl With the Pearl Pin

  The Society of Single Ladies

  Lynne Connolly

  LYRICAL PRESS

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  Contents

  Books by Lynne Connolly

  The Girl With the Pearl Pin

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Author’s Foreward

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Author Biography

  References

  Copyright

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  LYRICAL PRESS BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2019 by Lynne Connolly

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  All Kensington titles, imprints, and distributed lines are available at special quantity discounts for bulk purchases for sales promotion, premiums, fund-raising, educational, or institutional use.

  Special book excerpts or customized printings can also be created to fit specific needs. For details, write or phone the office of the Kensington Sales Manager: Kensington Publishing Corp., 119 West 40th Street, New York, NY 10018. Attn. Sales Department. Phone: 1-800-221-2647.

  Lyrical Press and Lyrical Press logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  First Electronic Edition: September 2019

  eISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0952-4

  eISBN-10: 1-5161-0952-X

  First Print Edition: September 2019

  ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0955-5

  ISBN-10: 1-5161-0955-4

  Printed in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To Jennifer, Michelle, Martin, Helen, Renee, and all the wonderful staff at Kensington who have helped me so much.

  Author’s Foreward

  Writing a new series is a mixture of terrifying and exciting. A lot of late nights and research have led to this new venture, and at last, it’s ready for you. May the SSL prosper!

  Chapter 1

  April 1750

  Phoebe North was about to experience the most romantic episode of her life. Quite unexpectedly too. The Duke of Leomore, “Call me Leo,” leaned into her with the evident intention of fastening his mouth to hers. And Phoebe, surprised but completely in agreement, prepared for the onslaught.

  Then merry hell exploded outside the secluded grotto they were sharing. Screams and the sound of running feet interrupted them.

  The duke jerked back, gray eyes gleaming in the moonlight, and took her arm, urging her to retreat. Phoebe shook him off. Somebody out there was in trouble. This was no time for discreet withdrawal.

  She took a couple of quick paces to the pillared entrance and went down the two steps to the main path, lifting the skirts of her new ball gown in a graceless manner her hostess would definitely not approve of. The sound of running came closer, and the ground under her feet trembled with the coming onslaught. Around the corner hurtled a man dressed in drab street clothes, his cocked hat pulled down low over his forehead. Something glittered in his grasp. He was too large for Phoebe to block with her body, but as he raced past, trailing the aroma of well-used clothing and body odor, she grabbed at his hand, trying to wrest away whatever he was carrying. The sounds of shouting and “Stop thief!” grew closer.

  The bully shoved Phoebe, and she caught her heel in her skirt, tumbling backward.

  Strong arms hauled her up, and she found herself drawn close to a hard, male chest. Her breath gone, she needed a moment, but she should really pull away.

  A woman’s shrill cries centered on her. “There she is, the thief! Look what she has in her hand!”

  A soft male voice from behind her countered her ladyship’s words. People crowded around, abandoning the brightly lit ballroom beyond. “I fail to understand how you draw that conclusion, ma’am. My betrothed and I were merely snatching a few quiet moments together.”

  Betrothed?

  * * * *

  Earlier that same evening, Leo’s grandmother glared at him over the dinner table. Leo wouldn’t have been surprised if the delicate china and gleaming silverware had turned to stone, followed in short order by himself. “You must not marry to oblige me. You must do it for the title and estate. You cannot be the last Leomore in the direct line.” She tapped the crisp linen tablecloth twice to emphasize her point. She spoke with a vigor that belied her seventy years, but the walking cane propped within her reach told a different story.

  “Pay heed, Leomore, if you do not make a decision for yourself soon, I shall do it for you.”

  He tried for frozen hauteur, although trying that with a woman who had personally hauled him out of trees on the estate and punished him for it made ducal reserve difficult to assume. “I will find a bride, Grandmama
, never fear. I’m fully aware that you deserve rest and comfort, not to be obliged to act as my hostess and work for the family.”

  A smile curved her thin lips. While his grandmother barely topped five feet, every inch counted. Nobody overlooked her delicate form, nobody turned away when the Dowager Duchess of Leomore entered the room. She had all the dignity and grace of a queen and deployed it to great effect.

  She softened her tone. “I know that, my dear, but you should also be aware that I will prevent it, if your selection is not suitable. I failed to do that with your father, but I will not shirk my duty a second time. While I cannot force you on to your knees in front of an eligible female, I can arrange matters to make it impossible for you to go ahead with an engagement to an unsuitable candidate.” Her expression gentled, her gray eyes revealing more than most people saw. “Indeed, I regret the necessity, since you are content with your bachelor state. If your heir had lived, I would have remained content to let you take your time. Now the insufferable Erasmus has become your heir, you must do something to prevent him taking the dukedom.”

  Leo knew she was right. His cousin and heir up until the end of last season had died in a boating accident. John would have made a very good duke, had Leo died, without issue. On the other hand, John’s younger brother, Erasmus, had absolutely no interest in family obligations. Not his own, at any rate, although he cared passionately about the Caesars. He would have the estate, its employees and dependents bankrupt in no time, despite the wealth the title carried, by buying the contents of Rome, and probably Athens, too. That must not happen, not after the depredations of Leo’s parents.

  His father had married for love. She was from a good family with a reasonable portion, but after Leo’s birth they set about ruining the estate with their high living. The duke gave her everything, and then they had died together. Smallpox had taken both of them in a week, and because of the risk, Leo hadn’t been allowed to see them.

  They left a wrecked inheritance and a small, bewildered, half spoiled, half wild boy to carry on the venerable dukedom. Leo owed his grandmother more than he could ever repay. But that didn’t stop him trying.

  Leo picked up his glass of wine, watching the dark liquid glimmer before he took a sip. “I know it, ma’am.” He would not keep her in suspense. “I intend to look about me this season. Did you compile the list I requested?” He would not have his grandmother upset, so his first criterion was to find someone the dowager liked, or at least could tolerate. The omissions would tell him what he needed to know. Nobody knew society better than his grandmother, even though she rarely ventured abroad these days. She did not need to. Society came to her.

  She flourished a sheet of paper. “Here.”

  Silently he perused it until he got to a name near the bottom. “Miss Angela Childers?” He glanced up. “That’s long odds, to say the least.”

  His grandmother lifted her chin. “The woman said she would never marry, but have any dukes asked her before? Dukes of your consequence?”

  “Apart from the title, I can offer her nothing she cannot get for herself.” He liked Miss Childers, the daughter of what society haughtily referred to as a mixed marriage. Which was to say, her grandmother had been a duchess, and her grandfather on the other side a wealthy City man. Leo had not seen the beautiful banker since the autumn of last year, but he recalled his pleasure in her company. And her rejection of any man who tried to get closer to her. “She refuses to marry, and I cannot imagine she will change her mind.” But his grandmother had a point about the title, and he could not deny he liked Miss Childers. “I daresay everyone who is in town will be at her house tonight.”

  “She cannot hold the ball on her own,” the duchess said, her lips primming in disapproval. “Asking men to her house when she lives there alone is not done.”

  “Her uncle reluctantly serves as host on these occasions, I believe.”

  Stuffy rules. As if Miss Childers would ever behave in a way to draw opprobrium. In a few years, society would consider her an old maid, and then she could do as she wished, or so she had declared last year. Protecting women was one thing, but the ridiculous unwritten rules society lived by irked him excessively. “I will have a chance to look over most of the women on your list.” All the people his grandmother considered “everyone,” at any rate. “Do I escort you, ma’am?”

  His grandmother reached for her cane, her hand trembling. Old age had hit her hard the past few years, and now her hands were twisted with arthritis. Leo would marry the devil himself if he could get her the rest she deserved. “I received an invitation, but the event will be a sad squeeze, and I am in no mind to go. However, you may give the lady my warmest regards.”

  The dowager duchess’s regards were hotly sought after. Leo duly promised to pass them on. He glanced down the other names. His grandmother had listed ten young ladies who would no doubt be eager to receive his attentions. A few weren’t there. He would not trouble them, not caring enough about any of them to make a fuss or defy the dowager’s wishes.

  He knew what he wanted for himself. A sweetly amenable woman of good character and high birth who would not expect the close intimacy that had no place in a rational marriage. He allowed a certain measure of affection from his mistress, but his wife should be aware of her position in the world and behave accordingly. Recent family history made that requirement even more important.

  He would do everything in his power to give his grandmother a tranquil old age.

  “Leo, you must not marry without affection,” his grandmother said, “but ensure your feelings for your bride are no more than that.”

  Leo nodded. He and the dowager agreed on that point. “Liking will be enough.”

  “Indeed, you may lavish affection on your mistress,” Her Grace said. She shifted a little, enough to make the footman standing behind her chair hurry forward to help her stand. Not that she needed it, but she appreciated an attentive servant.

  “I did.” Leo shuddered, recalling La Coccinelle’s final tantrum. Final for him, that was. He had sent her the deeds to the house he’d bought for her, and she could consider their affair at an end. He would certainly not return there.

  Getting to his feet, Leo tossed his napkin down on the table before making his bow. “I will uphold the dignity of the dukedom, never fear.”

  “I know you will. You always do.”

  * * * *

  “You look lovely,” Angela said. “You’ll do well tonight, Phoebe, mark my words.”

  Phoebe let her mouth tilt up in a doubting smile. “I’ll d-do well enough.” She flourished her fan. “At least I m-mastered that part.” Her relatively plain gown marked her as inferior, so she didn’t expect any special notice. In fact, she’d positively dislike it. They were standing outside Angela’s bedroom door, ready to go downstairs and greet her guests.

  Angela took her hands in hers. “You’ve come a long way since you escaped from your odious suitor in the country. Now you may enjoy yourself.”

  Phoebe smiled back. Yes, she had. Sir Marcus Callow, a bold, handsome, overbearing man had set his sights on her in the provincial Assembly she regularly attended. He was unexceptional, except that he wanted his own way in everything. Phoebe had avoided him. When he’d tried to press his suit by forcing a kiss on her so rough that it split her lip, Phoebe had grabbed Angela’s invitation to visit her and escaped. All the way to London. With any luck, when she returned, Marcus would have settled on somebody else. Having a retiring nature did not mean she was compliant or weak, as many people supposed. And she would not marry Marcus. Not if she had to remain a spinster for the rest of her days.

  Phoebe waited for Angela to lead her down the stairs and into the brilliantly lit hall below. Angela’s Uncle Harold, who acted as host at times like this, waited for his niece. He was, as always, austere in the darkest of blues, his fashionable white wig firmly in place.

  This
was Phoebe’s first society ball. She’d attended a few affairs in the week between Easter Monday and today, and now she was glad of it, because this was society at its most glittering.

  This spacious London house took her breath away every time she went down into the main reception rooms, although Phoebe knew enough by now not to gawk. She bobbed a curtsey to Angela’s uncle. “Good evening, sir.” He gave her a smile and a nod.

  Phoebe followed Angela through to the main chamber, the biggest drawing room, which was acting as the ballroom.

  Forced up to the highest echelon in society, she was still overwhelmed by the grandeur and sheer luxury everyone displayed with a carelessness that concealed their wealth. Everyone except Phoebe. She’d come from a small town in Buckinghamshire, where her mother was the resident queen of local society to—this.

  This being hundreds of candles in glittering chandeliers, precious gems around the women’s throats, expensive French lace at every elbow—three rows of it—the most sumptuous fabrics used in careless profusion and a plethora of liveried servants ready to attend one’s every need. And the sound of chatter, noisy and loud, buzzing in her head. The ball had only just started, and already the rooms were full. At least Angela had decreed no receiving line. This was more a rout than a ball, apparently. Not that Phoebe was entirely sure she knew the difference.

  People crowded forward, eager to meet Phoebe’s cousin.

  Phoebe’s stomach swooped, and she slammed her foot to the floor as the other slipped forward, and she nearly lost her balance. She should have roughened the soles of these shoes, but in her haste she’d forgotten. Now it was too late, and the parquetry floor was polished to a high shine. The servants hadn’t even put French chalk on the part of the floor meant for dancing. If anyone else had shoes with shiny soles, the result could be interesting.

  Angela responded to everyone, and Phoebe curtseyed when people deigned to notice her. Which they did too often for her liking. Her head spun with the names of all the earls, dukes, marquesses, and Lord knew who else flocking to the house for this ball. They politely enquired after her welfare, but their gazes never rested on her. They drifted past her to Angela. She doubted any of them would know her if they passed her in the street if she was here on her own.