Lord Harry's Folly Catherine Coulter (13 inch ebook reader TXT) 📖

attention was no longer even partially on her. “I’ll leave you now, old boy,” he said over his shoulder as he took off in the direction of a long-legged blonde, whose features were remarkably like his own.

Hetty felt as if she were frozen in her boots. She knew that she had to do something, at least act interested in one of the girls. She watched as Sir John Walterton led a giggling, flushed girl from the room and toward a wide circling staircase that began its ascent just outside the door of the drawing room.

What the devil was she going to do?

She forced herself to attend to those females in the room who appeared as yet unattached by any of the gentlemen. It was only the second time her eyes swept over the occupants that she chanced to notice a slightly built redheaded girl who stood partially hidden by a red velvet hanging. Even across the room, Hetty sensed the fear in the girl. New, was she? Hetty made her way slowly toward the girl, halting only to procure two glasses of champagne from a footman’s tray. As she neared, she was aware that the girl had seen her approach, and had started guiltily. Dear God, Hetty thought angrily, she appeared to be younger than Hetty herself was. She looked to be no more than sixteen, if that.

She heard herself say calmly, “Hello, my name is Lord Harry Monteith. Would you care to join me for a glass of champagne?”

“Oh yes, certainly,” the girl said quickly, too quickly, Hetty thought as she handed her the glass. She watched the girl’s eyes dart past her. She turned her head slightly and saw that Lady Buxtell’s sharp eyes had narrowed to slits as they rested on the girl. Hetty took a step sideways, hopefully blocking Lady Buxtell’s view.

“What’s your name?”

“Mavreen, my lord.”

“You seem very young to be here, Mavreen.”

“Oh no, my lord, I’m not young at all, unless you want me to be. What do you want, my lord?”

For a moment, Hetty was so shocked she couldn’t think of a thing to say. She saw that Mavreen’s hand was trembling slightly, the champagne sloshing close to the rim of the glass.

Hetty suddenly felt a ray of hope as she gazed down upon the girl’s pale face. Mavreen was as yet quite inexperienced at her trade, of that Hetty was certain. At least, she prayed for this certainty, since it was quite likely that her future as a gentleman rested on her assumption.

Mavreen started nervously at the touch of his lordship’s hand on her bare arm. “Please forgive me, my lord, would you care to be seated?”

As Hetty seated herself beside Mavreen, she had the sudden fleeting picture of herself in the girl’s situation, her livelihood dependent upon pleasing gentlemen. As Hetty didn’t have the luxury to dwell upon this particular injustice, she turned abruptly to Mavreen and said in a no-nonsense voice, “You need not lie to me, Mavreen. You can’t be more than sixteen, I know. Come, tell me the truth.”

Mavreen jumped. Normally, gentlemen weren’t the least interested in her age, or, for that matter, any thought she might have in her head. She tried to assess his lordship’s intentions, but her lack of experience didn’t provide her any clues. She said hesitantly, “I am telling you the truth, my lord. But I am just turned sixteen but three months ago.” She saw the young lord’s jaw tighten and hastened to reassure him as best she was able. “Even though I’m young, my lord, you mustn’t believe that I am not adept at whatever you would wish of me.” Mavreen saw a look of sadness pass over the young gentleman’s face, and was at once alarmed and confused.

“How long have you been in this establishment, Mavreen?”

“Two weeks, my lord, but all you have to do is tell me what you wish. I’m very good, my lord, truly.”

She imagined it was so. She heard Sir Harry laughing and looked up. Like Scuddy, he was now headed toward the staircase. She couldn’t quite grasp it. Her friends were going to take off their clothes and be intimate with females they didn’t even know and then they were going to give them money. It was more than she could begin to understand, and here she was in the middle of it.

“Have I displeased you, my lord?” Hetty looked back at Mavreen, and saw that she was staring at Lady Buxtell who was speaking with a newly arrived gentleman.

“No, you don’t displease me, Mavreen.” She patted the girl’s hand. “Tell me how you came to be here.”

“My Uncle Bob was killed, fighting with Wellington at Waterloo,” Mavreen blurted out. “Oh goodness, forgive me, I shouldn’t have said that. Oh dear, Lady Buxtell will surely be displeased with me.”

“Mavreen, I trust that Lord Monteith is receiving all that he wishes.” Hetty jerked about to see Lady Buxtell hovering at her side.

Hetty replied smoothly, a touch of arrogance in her voice, “I was just telling Mavreen that the room is close. I dislike all this noise. And the smell of cheap perfume. If you will excuse us, Mavreen is going to take me for a stroll.” She rose, her back turned insolently to Lady Buxtell, and assisted Mavreen to her feet.

Lady Buxtell would like to smack Lord Monteith, but she couldn’t afford to have it get around that she ever insulted a nobleman. She watched as the couple slowly made their way across the room and disappeared from her view up the staircase. She wasn’t at all a stupid woman and found herself wondering at the young lord’s ill-concealed distaste for her famous establishment. She glanced up at the clock and saw, with some irritation, that it was nearly one o’clock in the morning. Many of the fancy gentlemen were still dawdling about, evidently content to fondle her girls and pour her expensive champagne down their gullets.

“You’re unhappy about something, my dear Angelique?”

Lady Buxtell swiftly planted a