The Belle of Belgrave Square
praise for
The Siren of Sussex
“What I love about Mimi Matthews is that in the crowded field of historical romance she always finds new and interesting slants for her plots and characters. That, along with her wonderful writing and meticulous research, makes every book she puts out a rare treat to enjoy and savor. Highly recommended!”
—New York Times bestselling author Kate Pearce
“Unflinching, tender, and moving, the delicately crafted The Siren of Sussex might just be my favorite work from Mimi Matthews; it certainly is one of my favorite historical romance reads this year.”
—Evie Dunmore, USA Today bestselling author of Portrait of a Scotsman
“Lush, seductive, original—The Siren of Sussex drew me in from the first page, and wove its magic. A fresh, vibrant, brilliant Victorian romance, making it an unforgettable read.”
—New York Times bestselling author Jane Porter
“A moving love story and a vivid recreation of Victorian life, The Siren of Sussex by Mimi Matthews is a treat of a book for the historical romance lover.”
—Award-winning author Anna Campbell
“Impeccably researched, brimming with passion and chemistry, and a loving tribute to Victorian fashion and horsemanship, The Siren of Sussex is a page-turning, powerful, and endearing love story about two people rising above the pressures of society to follow their hearts. A five-star fantastic read!”
—USA Today bestselling author Syrie James
“A tender and swoonworthy interracial, cross-class romance in Victorian London . . . Readers will delight in this paean to women’s fashion and horseback riding.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“Matthews brings the Victorian era to vivid life with meticulously researched details and an impossible romance made believable and memorable.”
—Booklist (starred review)
“Romance aficionados who love fashion and animals will delight in this tender romance and will be excited to see Evelyn’s friends in future installments.”
—Library Journal (starred review)
“Readers should expect emotional heft and fascinating historical detail . . . Matthews explores cultural identity conflicts, exoticism, and the difficult position of a merchant catering to the whims of a privileged class, all within a tender, empowering love story.”
—Shelf Awareness (starred review)
“An exquisite historical romance that is so captivating I had to force myself not to gallop through it at a breakneck speed, wanting to savor the author’s obvious care and delicate attention to detail . . . A must read for lovers of historical fiction.”
—Meg Tilly, author of The Runaway Heiress
“Marvelously crafted, Evelyn and Ahmad’s world is ripe with nuanced social perceptions and characters that winnow heart deep. At times passionately intelligent and achingly vulnerable, The Siren of Sussex is destined to dazzle readers of Evie Dunmore and Harper St. George.”
—Rachel McMillan, author of The London Restoration and The Mozart Code
“Readers have learned to expect absorbing dramas from Mimi Matthews, and her latest—in which a strong and intelligent woman finds a way to save her family’s fortunes while following her own heart—is no exception. Any reader who has ever loved horses, high fashion, and brooding protagonists will fall hard for The Siren of Sussex. I savored it to the final page.”
—Stephanie Barron, author of That Churchill Woman
Also by Mimi Matthews
belles of london novels
The Siren of Sussex
BERKLEY ROMANCE
Published by Berkley
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
penguinrandomhouse.com
Copyright © 2022 by Mimi Matthews
Readers Guide copyright © 2022 by Mimi Matthews
Excerpt from The Lily of Ludgate Hill copyright © 2022 by Mimi Matthews
Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.
BERKLEY is a registered trademark and Berkley Romance with B colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Matthews, Mimi, author.
Title: The Belle of Belgrave Square / Mimi Matthews.
Description: First Edition. | Berkley Romance, 2022. |
Series: Belles of London; 2
Identifiers: LCCN 2022001074 (print) | LCCN 2022001075 (ebook) |
ISBN 9780593337158 (trade paperback) | ISBN 9780593337172 (ebook)
Subjects: LCGFT: Novels. Classification: LCC PS3613.A8493 B45 2022 (print) |
LCC PS3613.A8493 (ebook) | DDC 813/.6—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022001074
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022001075
First Edition: October 2022
Cover design and illustration by Farjana Yasmin
Book design by Daniel Brount, adapted for ebook by Molly Jeszke
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Contents
Cover
Praise for The Siren of Sussex
Also by Mimi Matthews
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Epigraph
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
Readers Guide
Excerpt from The Lily of Ludgate Hill
About the Author
For my father, Eugene.
Kind, steadfast, honorable; a true hero.
Such is the effect of the excitement of novel reading upon the nervous system, that the only way to obtain momentary ease, is to plunge into another as soon as one is finished.
—Confessions and Experience of a Novel Reader, 1855
One
London, England
June 1862
Julia Wychwood was alone in Rotten Row, and that was exactly the way she liked it.
Well, not quite alone.
There was her groom, Luke Six. And there were some humbly clad men and women tarrying along the viewing rail. But otherwise . . .
Yes. Alone.
It was often the case at this time of morning—those early moments after break of dawn, when the air was misty cool and the rising sun was shining brightly to burn away the fog. Some ladies and gentlemen chose to ride at this time of day, but not many. Certainly not as many as during the fashionable hour. Then, all of society was out in force.
Which was precisely why Julia preferred riding in the morning. There were fewer stares and whispers. Less judgment.
With a squeeze of her leg, she urged Cossack into a canter. It was the big ebony gelding’s best gait—a steady, even stride, with a sway to it like a rocking chair. She relaxed into it. When cantering, Cossack required nothing more of her than that she maintain a light contact on the double reins. He did the rest, which left her ample time to daydream.
Or to fret.
She wasn’t only alone in Rotten Row. She was alone in London. Her three best friends were all out of town, with two of them not set to return until Sunday. That left four days for her to get through on her own. Four excruciating days, and on every one of them, an equally excruciating society event.
Julia considered taking to her bed. She’d done it before to get out of attending a ball or a dinner. But she’d never done it for more than two days at a time. Even then, her parents insisted on summoning Dr. Cordingley—an odious man who always came with his lancet and bleeding bowl in hand.
She shuddered to think of it.
No. Faking an illness wouldn’t work this time. Maybe for one day, but not for all of them.
Somehow, she was going to have to get through it.
Cossack tossed his head at something in the distance.
Julia’s gloved hands tightened reflexively on the reins. She squinted down the length of the Row at the rider coming toward them. “Easy,” she murmured to Cossack. “It’s just another horse.”
An enormous horse. Bigger and blacker than Cossack himself.
But it wasn’t the horse that made Julia tense in her sidesaddle. It was the gentleman astride him: a stern-faced, battle-scarred ex-military man.
Captain Blunt, the Hero of the Crimea.
Her mouth went dry as he approached. She was half-tempted to bolt. But there was no escaping him. She brought Cossack down to a trot and then to a walk.
She’d met the captain once before. It had been at Lady Arundell’s spring ball. Viscount Ridgeway, a mutual acquaintance of theirs, had introduced him to Julia as a worthy partner. In other circumstances, the interaction might have been the veriest commonplace—a few polite words exchanged and a turn about the polished wood dance floor.
Instead, Julia had gawped at Captain Blunt like a stricken nitwit. Her breath had stopped and her pulse had roared in her ears. Afraid she might faint, she’d fled the ballroom before the introduction had been completed, leaving Captain Blunt standing there, his granite-hewn features frozen in a mask of displeasure.
It had been one of the most mortifying experiences of Julia’s life.
And that was saying something.
For a lady prone to panicking in company, mortifications were a daily occurrence. At the advanced age of two-and-twenty, she’d nearly grown accustomed to them. But even for her, the incident at Lady Arundell’s ball had marked a new low.
No doubt Captain Blunt thought her actions had had something to do with his appearance.
He was powerfully made. Tall, strong, and impossibly broad shouldered. Already a physically intimidating gentleman, he was made even more so by the scar on his face. The deep, gruesome slash bisected his right eyebrow and ran all the way down to his mouth, notching into the flesh of his lip. It gave the impression of a permanent sneer.
Rather ironic that he was hailed as a hero. In looks, there seemed nothing heroic about him. Indeed, he appeared in every way a villain.
“Miss Wychwood.” He removed his beaver hat, inclining his head in a bow. His hair was a lustrous raven black. Cut short to his collar, it was complemented by a pair of similarly short sideburns edging the harsh lines of his jaw. “Good morning.”
She scarcely dared look him in the face. “Good morning.”
He didn’t reply. Not immediately. He was studying her. She could feel the weight of his stare. It set off a storm of butterflies in her stomach.
Ride on, she wanted to say. Please, ride on.
He didn’t ride on. He seemed intent on making her squirm.
She suspected she knew why. She’d never apologized to him for her behavior at the ball. There’d been no opportunity.
Perhaps he wanted her to suffer for embarrassing him?
If that was the case, Julia was resigned to take her medicine. Heaven knew she deserved it.
She forced herself to meet his gaze. The butterflies in her stomach threatened to revolt. Goodness. His eyes were the color of hoarfrost—a gray so cold and stark it sent an icy shiver tracing down the curve of her spine. Every feminine instinct within her rose up in warning. Run, it said. Flee.
But this wasn’t Lady Arundell’s ballroom.
This was Hyde Park. Here in the open air, mounted on Cossack, she wasn’t the same person she was at a ball or a dinner dance. For one thing, she wasn’t alone. She had a partner—and an imposing one, at that. Cossack lent her his strength and his stature. Made her feel nearly as formidable as he was. It’s why she was more confident on horseback.
At least, she’d always been so before.
“How do you do?” she asked.
“Very well.” His voice was deep and commanding, with a growl at the edge of it. A soldier’s voice. The kind that, when necessary, could be heard across a battlefield. “And yourself?”
“I’m enjoying our spell of fine weather,” she said. “It’s excellent for riding.”
He flicked a glance over her habit. Made of faded black wool, it did nothing to emphasize the contours of her figure. Rather the opposite. It obscured her shape, much as the net veil on her short-brimmed riding hat obscured her face. His black brows notched into a frown.
She suppressed a flicker of self-consciousness. Her clothing wasn’t meant to attract attention. It was meant to render her invisible. But it hadn’t—not to him.
The way he looked at her . . . Hades might have regarded Persephone thus before dragging her down to hell to be his unwilling bride.
And everyone knew Captain Blunt was looking for a wife.
If one believed the prevailing rumors, it was the sole reason he’d come to town. He was on the hunt for a vulnerable heiress he could spirit back to his isolated Yorkshire estate. An estate that was said to be haunted.
“You ride often at this time of day?” he asked.
“Whenever I can,” she said. “Cossack is glad for the exercise.”
“You handle him well.”
Some of the tightness in her chest eased at the compliment. “It’s not difficult.” She stroked Cossack’s neck. “He may look imposing, but he’s a lamb underneath. The biggest creatures often are, in my experience.”
Captain Blunt’s own mount stamped his gigantic hooves as if in objection to her statement.
She gave the great beast an interested look. He was built like a medieval warhorse, with a broad chest, heavy fetlocks, and a thickly waving mane and tail. “What do you call him?”
“Quintus.”
“And is he—”
“A brute through and through,” Captain Blunt said. “Sometimes, Miss Wychwood, what you see is precisely what you get.”
Julia wondered if that was true in the captain’s own case. Could he really be as menacing as he appeared? She didn’t know to a certainty. All she knew was that, according to society gossip, he was positively dangerous—especially to marriageable young ladies.
It didn’t excuse how she’d behaved toward him at the ball.
She moistened her lips. “I believe I owe you an apology.”
He looked steadily back at her.
“When Lord Ridgeway was introducing you to me at Lady Arundell’s ball . . .” She faltered. “Perhaps you don’t remember—”
“I remember,” he said gruffly.
Heat rose in her cheeks. “Yes, well . . . I’m sorry to have run off like that. I’m afraid I’m not at my best when meeting strangers.”
“Do you often run off during introductions?”
“Not generally, no. Not unless I fear I’m going to swoon.” Her mouth ticked up at one corner in a rueful smile. “You wouldn’t have appreciated having to catch me.”
Something flickered behind his icy gaze. An emotion impossible to read. “You don’t know me very well, ma’am.”
Were it any other gentleman, Julia might have suspected him of flirting with her. But not Captain Blunt. His scarred countenance was as coldly serious as his tone.
Her smile faded. “No, indeed.” She tightened her fingers on the reins. “But I apologize all the same.” She dipped her head to him as she urged Cossack on in the opposite direction. “Good day, Captain Blunt.”
He didn’t return her farewell. He didn’t say anything. He only sat there atop his horse, watching her ride away.
Julia felt the burning impression of his stare at her back. And this time, she didn’t will herself to be brave. She did what she’d wanted to do since she’d first laid eyes on him.