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

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.”

Chapter Seven

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