The Harlot Countess by Joanna Shupe Read Free Book Online

Little wonder her parties had become fashionable with a certain set.
    And the evenings had proven quite fruitful, if the popularity of Lemarc’s cartoons were anything to go by. Each event produced at least one delicious on-dit , sometimes more. In fact, Maggie’s fingers itched to get her paper and pencils, the idea for a new cartoon already swirling in her mind.
    â€œDid you hear me, Maggie?”
    â€œYes, I heard you,” she called as Tilda reappeared with stockings and a clean petticoat. Once they were on, Tilda helped Maggie into a fresh gown. This one wasn’t quite as lovely as the ruined costume, but the green silk would flatter her eyes.
    With arms in the sleeves, Maggie held it as Tilda fastened up the back.
    â€œThere. Now, no more swimming, my lady.”
    â€œI shall try, Tilda, but I make no promises.” Maggie strode back into her bedchamber. “Becca, I must return to the ballroom.”
    â€œI do not like it,” her sister said, a heavy frown transforming her pretty face.
    â€œWhat, the dress?”
    â€œYou know that is not what I am talking about.” Becca crossed her arms. “I do not like that he is here, upsetting you. Will you be able to ignore him?”
    Maggie smiled at her overprotective yet sweet younger sister. Becca had always been Maggie’s biggest champion, even when the rest of the world had thought the worst. “Of course. After all, I’ve ignored his existence for ten years. How hard could a few more hours be?”

Chapter Four
    â€œBetter not have too many, Winejester!”
    Three young men dissolved into laughter, and Simon forced a smile and raised his glass toward them. He recognized each one, the fools. “Appreciate the warning, Pryce.”
    Colton made a noise. “The reason you should humor those walking cocks is unfathomable to me. It’s as if your bollocks have shriveled up and fallen off since you started up in Parliament.”
    â€œPryce’s father is the Earl of Stratham, one of my biggest allies. Pulverizing his son for a drunken jest is not how the game is played, Colt.”
    â€œExactly why I never took up my seat in Lords. Too many favors and slaps on the back. No one saying what they truly mean. I don’t know how you tolerate it.”
    Simon sighed. Colton knew him better than anyone, but not even his childhood friend would understand. Colton’s father had been a cold-hearted bastard, not particularly well liked in either Parliament or Society. But Simon could perceive his family’s legacy everywhere he turned. Some men came from a long line of butchers or blacksmiths; the Barrett men were statesmen, helping to shape the policy and future of the realm since Henry the Sixth. The fifth Earl of Winchester had once served as Lord President of the Council. And Fox himself had taken counsel with Simon’s father on occasion.
    His father had died at forty-five. Rare heart condition, they’d said. Simon had no idea if his own health would follow a similar path—if he were going to keel over and expire, dear God, let it be a surprise—but he did intend to do something worthwhile in the time he had left.
    So six years ago, he had taken up his seat in Lords. Turned out he had the family knack for politics as well, and he’d quickly gained a reputation for backing the winning side. He enjoyed the competitiveness of Parliament. The thrill of success. The challenge of exploiting an opponent’s weakness to get what he wanted.
    â€œI rather like the Winejester cartoons,” Colton continued. “At least I’ll always have those to remember our drunken escapades.”
    Simon turned sharply. “Have you purchased one?”
    Colton’s lips twitched. “I’ve tried. Twice. Curst shopkeeper won’t sell it to me.”
    â€œWell, I wish they would stop. Certainly there are more interesting subjects to skewer.”
    â€œDoubtful.” Colton