LITMIR.BIZ

       The night air was cool, much pleasanter than the stuffiness inside. The moon hung just above the rooftops.

      ‘It seems almost near enough to touch and make a wish,’ Kate said, gazing up at it.

      Simon put his free hand over hers as it lay on his sleeve. ‘What would you wish for if you could wish for anything in the world?’

      ‘The same as you, I expect. A world where children can grow up strong and healthy. A world without cruelty.’

      ‘A tall order, but you are right. I wish it too.’

      They strolled on in companionable silence until the strains of another waltz drifted out to them from the ballroom. He turned and held his arms out to her, and without speaking she stepped into them. He guided her unerringly into the dance. It was cool and dark and they were alone, with the canopy of a star-filled sky above them and the muted strains of the music guiding their steps. It was magical.

      When the music faded they stood still, looking at each other in the semi-darkness, silent, a little breathless, unwilling to break apart. He still had hold of her hands, which he raised one by one to his lips. She felt the warm pressure on her skin and a little shiver passed through her. Was this a man who could break hearts?

      AUTHOR NOTE

      Although the Hartingdon Home and The Society for the Welfare of Destitute Children are figments of my imagination, they were inspired by the work of Thomas Coram who, appalled by the sight of destitute children living and dying in the slums of London, founded the Hospital for the Maintenance and Education of Exposed and Deserted Young Children, which became known as the Foundling Hospital.

      His particular interest was in illegitimate children who had been abandoned, or could not be looked after by their unmarried mothers. He was a persuasive man and appealed to the aristocracy for support. Notable fundraisers were the composer Handel, who gave concerts to raise money, and the painter Hogarth, who displayed his pictures on the walls of the hospital. Other artists followed his example, and the pictures were on show for the public to view, when they were encouraged to donate to the charity.

      The charter founding the hospital was signed by George II on 14th August 1739, and the first children were admitted in 1741, seventy-six years before the time of my story, but it was still going strong and was so popular that mothers queued up to leave their children there. A selection procedure became necessary, and it was limited mainly to children of mothers who it was judged could be redeemed from their ‘wickedness’ to lead useful lives. The children’s names were changed and they rarely had contact with their mothers again. At a time when a quarter of children did not live beyond the age of five, when health care and education were almost non-existent and the only help was through the Poor Law, these children were given a home, good food and an elementary education to fit them for work.

      The charity later became known as the Thomas Coram Foundation for Children, and is now known as the Coram Family. It still exists, 270 years after its inception, though in a much changed form. Its history, some of its records and the tiny artifacts that arrived with the children are on display, together with priceless pictures, at The Foundling Museum in Russell Square. Well worth a visit.

      Born in Singapore, Mary Nichols came to England when she was three, and has spent most of her life in different parts of East Anglia. She has been a radiographer, school secretary, information officer and industrial editor, as well as a writer. She has three grown-up children, and four grandchildren. Mary loves to hear from her readers, and you can contact her via her website www.marynichols.co.uk

       Recent novels by the same author:

      TALK OF THE TON

      WORKING MAN, SOCIETY BRIDE

      A DESIRABLE HUSBAND

      RUNAWAY MISS

      RAGS-TO-RICHES BRIDE

      THE EARL AND THE HOYDEN

      HONOURABLE

      DOCTOR, IMPROPER ARRANGEMENT

      Mary Nichols

      

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

       Chapter One

       1817

      Dr Simon Redfern, strolling in Hyde Park, stopped to watch the young lady with the children. They looked healthy and well dressed, and were playing a complicated game of tag, running round and round, shrieking with laughter in which the young lady played a full part. She seemed too young to be the children’s mother and he concluded she was perhaps a nursemaid or a governess, but if she was, she was unlike any nursemaid he had ever met, because she was completely uninhibited, holding her pretty muslin skirt up with one hand and displaying a neat turn of ankle. In his experience, nursemaids and governesses were sticklers for correct behaviour.

      As he watched, an open carriage drew up and the four children abandoned their game and ran to it, scrambling in beside an elegant lady who was evidently their mother. She had a few words with the young lady and then drove off. The governess, if that was what she was, picked up a parcel from the ground where she had evidently left it while she played, and walked on alone.

      Kate had declined Elizabeth’s offer to be taken up because she was on her way to Hookham’s library and could easily reach it on foot. She was out of breath from running with the children and her cheeks had a rosy glow that her grandmother would deprecate but which made her look very attractive. She tucked strands of her nut-brown hair into the coil on the back of her head from which they had escaped and replaced her bonnet, which had slipped down on its ribbons. She had no idea what she looked like and walked down to the Serpentine to use the water as a mirror.

      ‘Oh, my goodness.’ The reflection that looked back at her was unladylike in the extreme. She was flushed, her hair was untidy and the ribbon securing her bonnet was crushed into a sad pretence at a bow. She tried to straighten it and it was then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw the child, sitting on the edge of the lake, with his little legs dangling over the water. He could not have been more than three or four years old and was dressed in filthy rags and had nothing on his feet at all. She looked about for his parents or someone looking after him, but there was no one that she could see. It was up to her to rescue him before he fell in. Not wanting to startle him, she moved slowly and then grabbed him from behind.

      He started to squirm and yell and it was all she could do to hold him. ‘Hush,’ she said. ‘I won’t hurt you.’ But he screamed the more and pulled the brim of her halftied bonnet down over her eyes.

      ‘Allow me.’ Her burden was taken from her and she swung round to face the gentleman who had spoken, pushing her bonnet back as she did so. He tucked the child under his arm. ‘If you do not leave off that noise, you will feel my hand on your rump,’ he told him, with a pretence at severity. The child looked up at the man and, deciding he probably meant it, subsided into silence.

      The man was, Kate judged, about twenty-seven or -eight, a little above average height, dressed in a plain brown frockcoat and leather breeches tucked into brown boots. His starched muslin cravat was tied in a simple knot. Not one of the haut monde, she decided, but definitely not the child’s papa. He was holding the lad firmly as if he were used to dealing with recalcitrant children, so perhaps he was a schoolmaster. He was a very handsome schoolmaster, if he was.

      ‘I thought he might fall in,’ she said, looking about her, as much to avoid the amused gaze of his grey eyes as to ascertain that no one was claiming the child. ‘He seems to be all alone.’

      ‘Do you know who he is?’

      ‘No,

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