Lord Harry's Folly by Catherine Coulter (read this if .txt) 📕

in the world, and had made her way to Drury Lane, whistling and humming even as her heart pounded against her ribs.

She would never forget her first evening at the theater, the title of the melodramatic play, The Milkmaid’s Dilemma, and the freak accident that had brought her together with Harry and Scuddy. A very rowdy play it was, following the adventures of a seductive milkmaid who, in the most maddening manner, refused to be bedded by her ardent young man. The hero had finally been about to succeed in his amorous endeavors when the milkmaid’s cow a very real bovine specimen became suddenly irked with the proceedings, mooed loudly, kicked over the milk can, and after gazing balefully at the uproarious audience, took violent exception. But a moment later, the cow lumbered off the stage, down into the pit, with frantic stagehands, a harried director, and the tousled heroine chasing behind her. The laughter suddenly turned to panic and Hetty found herself being pommeled and pushed roughly this way and that by the now stampeding audience.

“Out of me way, m’lad,” a very fat man yelled behind her, buffeting her on the shoulder. She would have gone sprawling to the ground had not a strong hand grabbed her arm and pulled her upright and back from the aisle.

“I say, old fellow,” a laughing voice said. “You really must keep out of the way of the rabble, you know. Hope that damned cow kicks in a few of their heads.”

Hetty looked up into twinkling blue eyes, set in a quite handsome young face. “Thank you, sir. It’s my first visit to the theater. Does this sort of thing happen very often?” Oh God, had she squeaked? Or had her voice been low enough?

The young gentleman grinned. “We were lucky tonight. They usually don’t have livestock that’s truly alive onstage. Once the audience threw rotten apples at the players. You should have seen the look on poor Macbeth’s face. Ho! They’ve finally got the poor beast in tow.” A sudden look of surprise crossed the young gentleman’s face. “First time to Drury Lane, you say?”

Hetty nodded. “Yes, I’ve just arrived in London from the North. It is all rather new to me.”

“Don’t mean to tell me you’re a rustic? Well, I’ll be damned. Hey, Scuddy, pay attention, old boy, we’ve got an oddity here and I saved him from being trampled.”

Hetty looked past her rescuer at a heavyset, cherubic-faced young man who had an openness about him that made her lips curl into an instant smile. Not a drop of guile in him. Probably not many brains either.

“What’s your name? It’s only fair that you tell me since I saved your hide.”

“Monteith. Lord Harry Monteith.”

The cherubic-faced young man blinked. “Damned coincidence. His name is Harry, too Sir Harry Brandon. Me, well, you can call me Scuddy.” He gave Hetty a plump hand that had probably never rubbed down a sweating horse in its life.

Hetty had worried about her soft white hands, but had discarded gloves. She would worry no longer.

Sir Harry poked Scuddy in the ribs. “His name’s actually Mr. Thayerton Scuddimore, but we don’t like to hang the poor fellow with that mouthful, so Scuddy it is. He doesn’t deserve such a noble name either.”

“It’s a pleasure, Scuddy.” So far, so good, she thought to herself. Both Harry and Scuddy appeared bluff and good-natured. She couldn’t help but wonder just how they would have introduced themselves had they known she was a female.

Sir Harry turned to gaze at the now empty stage. “Well, it looks as though our milkmaid ain’t going to tumble in the hay after all, at least tonight. Scuddy and I were going to White’s for a late supper. Why don’t you come along with us.”

Hetty said slowly, “You see, because I’m so new to London and have no friends here, I’m not a member of White’s. I’m not a member of anything.”

“Scuddy and I are,” Sir Harry said. “You may come along as our guest. No harm done there.”

“I say, Lord Harry.” She heard Scuddy’s voice, impatient now, “I’ve asked you the same question three times.”

Hetty blinked away her memories and brought her attention back to the present. “I was just thinking about the cow at Drury Lane.”

Scuddy laughed and thumped the table with the palm of his hand. “Damned funny sight. First time we met you, eh, Lord Harry? Damn it seems longer than what four months ago?”

“Well, it was four months ago,” Sir Harry said, his voice testy, an unusual event. “Stop prosing about the distant past else it will be close to dawn before I can tell you what I’ve got planned for the evening.”

Hetty recognized the rakish gleam in Harry’s sweet blue eyes, that, were it any other gentleman’s eye, would have been decidedly lecherous. Her palms were beginning to sweat as she forced herself to ask, “Tell us, Harry, what is this plan of yours?”

“A visit to Lady Buxtell’s house on Millsom Street. It’s been a damned long time since I’ve been there. About time to make another call.”

Palms sweatier still, Hetty knew she had to ask. “Lady Buxtell? A friend of yours, Harry?”

Scuddy gave a chuckle and tapped Hetty on her very sore arm. She managed to keep the gasp behind her teeth, knowing such a display wouldn’t be manly. “Good grief no, Lord Harry. She ain’t his friend much less a lady it’s her girls Harry’s interested in, not that bloody old besom.”

It had been with something of a shock to her when she discovered gentlemen’s conversations frequently settled in a most direct way upon the assets or lack thereof of various young ladies of their acquaintance. It was to their credit, Hetty supposed, that young ladies of quality were excluded from such frank and detailed comparisons, at least most of the time. But the bodily charms of females of a different class were bandied about in quite another manner. Up until now, Hetty believed that she had performed well,