Lord Harry's Folly (7 page)

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

Lady Buxtell swiftly planted a complacent smile on her lips and said to Sir William Filey, “Nothing in particular, my lord. It appears though that the gentlemen are more fond of drink tonight than the pleasures my lovely girls offer.” Sir William gave her pause. Although he was always polite to her in that slightly mocking manner of his, she knew there was a deep streak of cruelty in him. Even though it was never directed at her, she was afraid of him.

He laughed softly and she found herself shivering at the sound. “Don’t worry, Angelique, I shall myself lead the gentlemen upstairs where they belong.” He proffered her a mocking bow, turned, and said over his shoulder, “My thanks for the young French girl, Marie. A tidy morsel, my dear, exactly to my tastes. So young and so very untouched. Not now, of course, ah, but I enjoyed her whilst I taught her her trade. I congratulate you, Angelique, upon your means of procurement.”

Lady Buxtell offered a silent prayer that the foolish, whining Marie had learned her lessons well. Not, of course, that she begrudged the time she had spent with the girl, cursing and threatening her each time she seemed to rebel against the description of what Sir William would require of her. If nothing else, Sir William was most generous when he was pleased. She looked after Sir William as he made his way back to Marie. Despite the habitual sneer that marred the line of his full mouth, he was a handsome man, not above forty. He showed to advantage in his tight-knitted pantaloons and his coats had no need of buckram padding. She had heard that by the time he had reached thirty-five, he had already buried two wives. She thought about these two faceless ladies and decided it was probably fortunate for them that they had passed to the hereafter. A night spent in Sir William’s bed was not an experience that any of her girls relished. Just imagine how those prudish, simpering innocent young ladies had reacted to his demands. Well, it was none of her affair. She did wonder, though, about the rumor that had recently come to her ears. It seemed that Sir William was casting about for another wife a very rich one in all probability. Lady Buxtell shrugged and took a glass of champagne from a passing footman.

Hetty, in the meanwhile, followed closely after Mavreen, with what she prayed was a convincing display of male eagerness. They passed down a long, thickly carpeted corridor, Mavreen finally drawing to a halt in front of a closed door. Hetty pushed the knob and preceded Mavreen into a small room furnished almost entirely in dark blue velvet. Exotic pictures showed in blatant detail various positions. Goodness, some of those positions looked remarkably difficult and all of them were embarrassing. As for the pictures of the men, they looked ridiculous, all hair and muscle and their sex sticking out. She looked toward the four-poster bed in the center of the room and felt her heart jump into her throat. At that moment, Mavreen leaned heavily against Hetty and threw her arms about her shoulders. Hetty quickly thrust her away, an instinctive reaction, for she couldn’t trust her tightly laced chemise to completely flatten her breasts. A look of dismay and consternation settled upon Mavreen’s face. Hetty thought quickly, knowing that at the very least, she mustn’t give Mavreen any reason to think that she didn’t appreciate her woman’s charms. She took the girl’s hands in her own and lifted them to her lips, slowly kissing each slender white finger. “You are exquisite, Mavreen.” She forced herself to look at the girl’s gently sloping shoulders, and then down to the fullness of her breasts. Her waist was small, an asset, Hetty supposed.

“Oh, thank you, my lord,” Mavreen said, her voice breathless and filled with relief. She dared not think what would have happened to her if she failed to please Lord Monteith. “Would you like me to disrobe now?”

Hetty pretended to ponder Mavreen’s question. Lord, the last thing she wanted was to have a naked girl standing in front of her. She tried to determine exactly what a man would say and do. As the answer was an obvious one, she was forced to charter new ground. She replied casually, “No, I think not now, Mavreen. Actually, I would know more about you, and why you are afraid of Lady Buxtell.”

Oh God, Mavreen thought wildly, he wasn’t a customer. He must be one of her spies. “Oh, my lord, she is really a very kind mistress. She most kindly took me in when I would have starved in the streets.”

“I doubt that. You’re terrified of her. You may trust me, you know.”

“I don’t know what you mean, my lord.” She saw a gleam of anger narrow Lord Monteith’s dark blue eyes. “I’m being stupid. Let me undress you, my lord. Shall I take you in my mouth? Shall I fondle you with my hands?”

“No,” Hetty said. “You may tell me if you’re a trollop.”

“Oh God, I’m not, I swear it. I was a virgin, my lord. It is true that she pulled me from the street, but it wasn’t my fault that I was there. After word came that my Uncle Bob was dead, the creditors came to our milliner shop and all but threw me out. I had no money and no family I could go to. She told me that I was very lucky, that I would be deflowered by a handsome lord. It was Sir William Filey.” She gazed helplessly up at Lord Monteith. “It was awful. He hurt me horribly. He was worse than the others. Some of them were even nice to me, petting me like I was a dog or something if I managed to please them.”

Through a haze of unshed tears, Mavreen realized that she had disgraced herself. Lady Buxtell would be informed that she was unworthy of her protection. She would starve in the streets, alone, friendless. She jerked her hand free of Lord Monteith’s and covered her face. She sank to her knees and began to sob. “I don’t want to starve in the street, I don’t. I’m too young to starve.”

Hetty stared down at the crumpled girl at her feet. Sudden anger exploded through her. That this girl no more than a child should be forced to be a whore just to survive. It wasn’t right.

Hetty became suddenly brisk. “Come, Mavreen, no more tears. We have work to do.” She pulled a handkerchief from her waistcoat pocket. “Dry your tears. I believe that you and I have much to talk about.”

“You’re not going to tell Lady Buxtell that I wasn’t what you wanted?”

“Oh no,” Hetty said. “As a matter of fact, I’m going to save you.”

Gray streaks of dawn lit the black sky when Pottson at last delivered Miss Hetty through the servants’ entrance into Millie’s hands. He’d argued with her only briefly, for her soul-deep anger had stilled his tongue.

He sighed and shook his head as he turned from Sir Archibald’s town house in Grosvenor Square to make his way back to Thompson Street. This latest exploit of Miss Hetty’s was making his gray hair frizzle even more than the last time she’d teased him about it. Imagine Miss Hetty a young, gently reared lady in a brothel. He lowered his head into the howling February wind, so tired from his long night of waiting for Miss Hetty that his legs trembled with fatigue. He wondered what Millie was going to say when she heard about Miss Hetty’s surprise.

“You’ve not got long to sleep, Miss Hetty,” Millie was saying in her matter-of-fact voice, still ignorant of what had happened during the night. “Sir Archibald and his holy schedule, you know. I’ll awaken you just before luncheon.”

By the time Millie had quietly closed the bedchamber door, Hetty was already asleep.

To Millie’s surprise and relief, near to eleven o’clock that morning, Sir Archibald informed the housekeeper, who then informed Millie, that he would be lunching with Sir Mortimer Melberry. Such an unheard of change in Sir Archibald’s schedule left the servants stunned. “But you can set every clock in the house by Sir Archibald,” Grimpston said, throwing his hands into the air.

“It’s not what I’m used to,” Mrs. Miller, the housekeeper, told Millie over a cup of hot tea in the kitchen.

Millie said, “I, for one, would never think of talking against the master, but it’s a sad thing that Sir Archibald doesn’t even think to send a message to Miss Hetty. I tell you, Florence, if the master cared as much for his own flesh and blood as he did for those dratted Tories, then perhaps Miss Hetty would not but that’s neither here nor there.”

To Millie’s relief, Mrs. Miller didn’t seem to notice her sudden lapse. Indeed, to Millie’s eyes, it seemed that Mrs. Miller was suffering more pain in her joints. She looked at the kitchen clock and smiled. Miss Hetty would get much-needed sleep, the poor lamb.

Hetty awoke in a panic. She knew instantly that it was long past noon. Her eyes frantically sought out the ormolu clock on the mantelpiece. Half-past two in the afternoon. Where the devil was Millie? She dashed out of her warm bed and pulled vigorously on the bell cord.

Millie entered her room a few minutes later, a faint smile puckering out her thin cheeks. “No need to fret, Miss Hetty. Sir Archibald did not lunch at home today.”

“That’s impossible. Don’t lie to me, Millie. You felt sorry for me and didn’t wake me up. Oh dear, what did he say? Is he upset with me?”

“Your father informed Mrs. Miller that he was lunching with Sir Mortimer Melberry. In fact, Grimpston overheard Sir Archibald muttering about some elections and how he must keep a very close eye on the Whigs. I don’t believe that he will be back for dinner.”

Hetty dropped the shift she’d just grabbed up. “Good heavens, Millie, these elections must be something to send Father out of the house before noon. I daresay I shall discover what is afoot tomorrow over luncheon. Surely he would never be gone two days in a row. This entire household would come to a halt were he to do that.”

“No doubt. Now, Missie, back into bed with you. No playing the young gentleman tonight. I’ve told Cook to send a tray later to your room.”

After Millie quietly closed herself from the bedchamber, Hetty snuggled down into the warm covers, not to sleep again, but to think. It seemed fantastic to her, now that she was once again the protected young lady of quality, that she could ever have become entangled in such an incredible situation. She raised thankful eyes upward that she had managed to come through with her identity as Lord Harry Monteith without question. She wondered now how many other young girls were in Mavreen’s situation forced to sell their bodies so that they would not starve? As much as she hated the inevitable answer to her silent question, she realized that her hands were quite full enough trying to untangle just Mavreen’s future. She had made firm promises to the girl, promises that she was honor-bound to fulfill.

Hetty sat up in her bed and fluffed a pillow behind her head. She had promised to settle Mavreen in some sort of position. As her knowledge of these matters was limited, the only ideas that came to mind centered around governesses and ladies’ maids. She pursed her lips, deep in thought. Suddenly, she remembered Louisa, her sister-in-law. Indeed, it was inspiration. Dear Louisa was always complaining how Little John wore her to a frazzle and then it was Big John’s turn. Were not Louisa’s letters full of how she wished for a younger person to chase after him when his mother fell exhausted onto a sofa? Well, she now had the perfect solution. She felt rather smug for coming to such a neat resolution so quickly. She couldn’t help but remember though that she hadn’t felt one single whit of smugness the night before, when she’d had to face down that dragon, Lady Buxtell, at four o’clock in the morning. Oh God, she thought even now, remembering how she’d watched Lady Buxtell standing in the empty drawing room, undoubtedly relishing her success in dispatching all the gentlemen either upstairs with her girls or politely removing them from her establishment. Hetty had approached her with a brisk stride, a frown on her face.

“My Lord Monteith,” Lady Buxtell had said, managing to dredge up a brittle smile, not forgetting or forgiving his sneering rudeness upon his arrival. “You leave us very early. You were with Mavreen, were you not? So untouched she is, so innocent yet skilled, so”

Hetty interrupted with all the contempt she could muster, “Yes, I had the misfortune to be with that whining, fearful little fool. I was told, my dear Lady Buxtell, that a gentleman would not leave your house unsatisfied. I shall regret telling my friends that your establishment is sorely lacking in service, ma’am.”

Lady Buxtell’s thin face grew alarmingly red and Hetty knew a moment of fear. To her surprise, Lady Buxtell’s wrath fell instantly upon Mavreen’s head. “That damned ungrateful little tart. And here I picked her out of the gutter, I did. Gave her the best of everything, held nothing back, I did. I should have known when Sir William did not approve of her that the little wretch would cause me nothing but trouble. I’ll kick her arse back in the streets, where she and that skinny arse of hers belong.”

“It’s what she deserves,” Hetty said. “I’m glad that you agree with me.”

Lady Buxtell realized with some irritation that she had allowed her carefully polished speech to slip. She turned her eyes to Lord Monteith, and said in a tone that licked his lordship’s boots, “Dear Lord Monteith, of course, there is no charge at all for the evening, let me assure you. Perhaps you have a fondness for redheads? I shall install another such a one for your pleasure, but this time, I shall find a girl who knows her place. I would hope, my lord, that with my assurances to make amends, you won’t feel it necessary to inform your friends of this incident.”

“Another redhead for my pleasure, you say?”

“Oh yes, my lord.”

Hetty flipped an indifferent hand. “Very well, ma’am. I shall say nothing if you promise that this one blighted specimen is out of your house this very day. I want none of my friends to make love to a sniveling, limp excuse for a female. I require more creativity in my pleasures, just as, I understand, does Sir William.” Hetty realized instantly that she had scored a master stroke with this added glaring lie. Lady Buxtell’s eyes gleamed and she smiled slyly. “Ah, so, my lord, now I quite understand you. It will be just as you say, my lord.”

Hetty bowed slightly and made as if to take her leave, then stopped and said sharply, “Well? Do you plan to wait until noon? Perhaps you won’t toss out the little slut until three o’clock? I want to see the wench thrown out now, madam. Not of course that I disbelieve that you will do what you agreed to, but”