Lord Harry's Folly by Catherine Coulter Read Free Book Online

demands of being a young gentleman exhausting, sometimes dangerous, but always exhilarating. How very lucky she had been that Sir Harry Brandon and Mr. Scuddimore had so quickly and unreservedly taken her under their collective wings. Her thoughts went back to that first evening, four months ago, when she had emerged from Thompson Street as Lord Harry Monteith. Her deep fear had been that the first gentleman she would meet would look at her, stare in the direction of her womanly parts, then look horrified. She had pomaded down her normally fluffy blond curls and tied the queue securely with a black ribbon. Her cravat had caused her to gulp with fresh anxiety, for to any experienced masculine eye, it was indeed an abomination. She’d forced herself to leave the apartment, all her thoughts firmly focused on swaggering like a young gentleman, her hips resisting every urge to sway. She had tried to nonchalantly swing her black malacca cane in her hand, as if she hadn’t a care 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