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

The earl shifted so he could look into his wife’s vivid green eyes. “You think so, do you? You have your way with me, allowing me only to lie here whilst you enjoy my man’s body, then you claim this to be strenuous. If you would know the truth, this is much more like riding than fencing.”

“What a vulgar thing to say. Ah, very well, I suppose that perhaps I shouldn’t fence with all that much vigor for a while yet. At least until the babe is born.”

“I appreciate your compromise. Now, tell me what you think of Harry’s new friend.”

The countess pondered a moment then said slowly, “I think he is somewhat different from Harry’s usual friends. He seems sober and quite mature for his years. You know, Julien and do not tease me but at first I thought him to be a rather effeminate young man, for he is quite a pretty fellow. But after listening to his calm good sense, watching him handle Harry quite expertly, I must own that I like him.”

“Regardless of the fact that Lord Monteith is a pretty fellow, he has already gained something of a reputation for being a young rakehell.”

“No, Julien, you cannot mean it. Lord Monteith? Why he is modest and kind and soft spoken and”

“Harry was quick to inform me that Monteith has already installed a mistress here in town. The story goes that he found her in Lady Buxtell’s establishment, plucked her out and set her up the first night he was with her.”

“Having a mistress doesn’t necessarily make him a rakehell. He isn’t yet married. After all, my love, you had a string of mistresses in keeping before we met.”

“Well, no matter,” the earl said quickly, not wanting to fall into that quagmire. “In any case, I have seen to the young man’s membership at White’s. I don’t doubt that he and Harry have already registered Lord Monteith’s name in Henry’s famous book. I find young Monteith most interesting. Now that he is a member of White’s, I can more easily follow what I believe will be an interesting career. Now, my dear, enough of both Harrys.”

Chapter Eleven

Both Harrys and Mr. Scuddimore were seated at that moment in the small dining room at White’s, toasting one another from a seemingly endless supply of champagne bottles.

“Keep the best coming,” Sir Harry said to a harried waiter, turning a wide grin on Lord Harry. “Damned fine banquet, Lord Harry. Ah, yes, another toast.”

Hetty thought of the price of this orgy of food and drink, and blanched. She knew she must keep a close watch on her purse strings, just on the off chance that Sir Archibald might inadvertently speak to his man of business. There wasn’t all that high a chance of this happening, but still A game of piquet or faro would be just the thing to cover the cost of her celebration.

Sir Harry, seven glasses of champagne swirling about in his belly, said happily, “Now that Lord Harry is officially one of us I think it’s only fair he tell us where he’s hidden his little ladybird.”

“I will say only that she is quite well and, naturally, supremely happy.” Hetty silently toasted the absent Mavreen, praying that what she said was indeed true.

“Don’t suppose you will be coming with us again to Lady Buxtell’s,” Scuddy said over the rim of his champagne glass.

“Perhaps, if my little ladybird ceases to please me. Who knows? A gentleman’s taste changes swiftly and unexpectedly. Yes, we’ll see.”

Sir Harry carefully stored away Lord Harry’s words, changing them about just a bit so that they would be in his style, hopeful that at some time he could say them with the same negligent indifference to other gentlemen in his acquaintance.

Hetty rose, straightened her powder blue waistcoat and gave a salute to her friends. “Since you two are drinking up my assets, I can see that my only recourse lies with the luck of the cards downstairs. Now that I am an esteemed member, I can hold the faro bank. To your health, gentlemen.” She tossed down the remainder of champagne in her glass, and left Sir Harry and Mr. Scuddimore to their own devices. It was, in truth, her second glass.

When Hetty entered the elegant gaming salon, she felt a tinge of smugness mingle with her excitement at finally being an accepted member of this exalted male stronghold. She looked up at the heavy chandeliers, their twinkling prisms catching the glowing light from the candles and shimmering down upon the gentlemen’s heads, and gave them a conspiratorial wink. The array of black and gold clad footmen, the trademark of White’s, still impressed her with their silent efficiency. They hovered unobtrusively about the gaming tables, holding exquisite crystal decanters on silver trays, ready for the snap of a gentleman’s fingers.

She sauntered to the faro table and stood quietly at the elbow of Lord Alvaney, a very likable gentleman whose cravat styles she copied regularly. His amusing pronouncements upon the misfortune of existing in the same era as Beau Brummell made Hetty feel that he cared not a whit about the vagaries of his fellow men. She felt no fear of a snub at standing near to him.

She had thought Lord Alvaney engrossed in the play, and was surprised when his soft voice reached her, without his even looking up. “Ah, Monteith, allow me to felicitate you. New blood and youth you bring us. I daresay that you will stir up the arid old bones rattling around at White’s. You play at faro, my boy?”

“Yes, I much enjoy the game.”

“Sit, lad, sit. Ah, did I tell you how much I admired the distinctive style of your cravat this evening?”

She knew he was mocking her, but it was in gentle fun, and she merely grinned and sat down on a delicate French chair next to his lordship. “Now that I am a member, sir,