Free Lord Harry's Folly by Catherine Coulter Page A

viciously boxed Mavreen’s ear. “Now, you little fool, get out of my house. The street is too good for the likes of you. And don’t you try to come sniveling back, my girl!”
    Hetty watched with her jaw clamped tightly closed for fear that she would tear into the old termagant, as Mavreen was roughly hurled through the front door into the cold night.
    Hetty said evenly as Lady Buxtell turned triumphantly back to her, “You have done just as I wished, ma’am. I shall bear you no grudge. I bid you good night.”
    Hetty pushed back the bedcovers with a sudden spurt of energy. She felt at once elated and quite pleased with herself. She padded over to her writing desk, lit a branch of candles, and sat down to quill and paper. She might as well inform John and Louisa of their good fortune in obtaining the services of a young person perfectly suited to Little John’s temperament.
    Words flowed from her quill and before she had done with her letter, she had covered two pages of flowing, heart-touching prose about Mavreen. Of course, she made no mention of Mavreen’s brief professional stay at Lady Buxtell’s.
    Hetty rose and stretched. Both Mavreen and her letter of introduction would be dispatched from London on the morrow by dear Pottson. She only hoped that he wouldn’t let anything slip; Mavreen must always believe that her rescuer was Lord Harry Monteith. Miss Henrietta Rolland was only a dear friend who was sending Mavreen on her way to a different life.
     
    Pottson, in the meanwhile, had finally settled the excited Mavreen into Lord Harry’s bed, and bid her a more friendly good night than he would have considered possible only that morning. When he had first laid eyes on her, Mavreen had looked her profession a painted little harlot. But after their shopping this afternoon, when she had shyly but proudly paraded before him dressed in a modest dove gray muslin gown, her fiery red hair smoothed down into a bun at the nape of her neck, all the paint wiped clean from her young face, he was of the firm conviction that Miss Hetty had behaved just as she ought. Poor little mite, he thought, Mavreen deserved much better from life than being a gentleman’s whore. Before he had tucked her in a fatherly manner into bed, she asked wistfully, “Mr. Pottson, will I see Lord Monteith again?”
    “No, Miss, he is staying with friends, not wishing to compromise you in any way by staying here.”
    If Mavreen thought that was a bit absurd, she didn’t say so. She said instead, “Do you know what will happen to me, Mr. Pottson?”
    “Don’t worry your head about it, Miss. Lord Harry will inform me as to your future plans on the morrow.”
    He received his summons to call upon Miss Hetty in Grosvenor Square very early the next morning. As he sat opposite her in the small back parlor listening to her unfold her plan for Mavreen’s future, he felt his respect for her grow to impressive heights. He readily applauded her solution, thinking to himself that kin of Master Damien would undoubtedly behave toward Mavreen with a great deal of kindness. Thus, it was with a light heart and a wide smile on his leathery face that he assisted Mavreen onto the mail coach that same morning.
    “Now, be careful, Miss, not to lose your letter of introduction to Sir John and Lady Louisa.” He lifted her gloved hand and pressed five guineas into her palm. “It’s a gift from Lord Monteith. He said, Miss, that self-respect doesn’t have anything to do with money, but it helps in many other ways.”
    She returned his smile, but felt a large lump rise in her throat. “Please thank his lordship, Mr. Pottson, and tell him that I shall never forget all he has done for me.”
    Mavreen’s gratitude to Lord Harry made Pottson uneasy. He hastened to say, “Don’t forget that you know only Miss Henrietta Rolland. It is she who is your benefactress. It won’t do at all for you to ever mention Lord Monteith. You won’t go forgetting, will you,