Lady Rogue by Kathryn Kramer Page B

thwarting his mother’s plans, ignoring his friend’s warnings that the seemingly gentle miss was not all that she seemed. He had been captivated by the young woman, but his mother interfered. Giving the young woman money, she stipulated that Anne Hyde stay out of Garrick's life. It had been a cruel lesson. So much for avowals of love.  
    When the Prince Regent had turned his eyes  in Anne's direction , the foolish girl had given in to the Prince's urgings, hopeful of furthering her ambitions.  It had earned her a townhouse, an elegant wardrobe and acquaintances in all the right places.  For a time, it had seemed like a fairytale until the prince tired of her.  Working her way down among the gentlemen of her crowd, Anne slipped drastically from favor, only to end up as a whore parading up and down in St. James Park.
    Nor could he put his own mother’s tawdry past completely behind him. Garrick’s mother had used her considerable charms, first enticing his father to marry her, then going on to yet another advantageous marriage two weeks after James Seton died. Garrick had never completely forgiven her.  It had been a source of contention between mother and son for several years.  That his mother took lovers much younger than herself was common knowledge.  While her old, befuddled husband lay abed suffering his apoplexy, Mary Seton Charing indulged herself with ostlers, butlers or handsome young servants who caught her eye.  Her lascivious behavior had hardened Garrick's heart towards women of easy virtue. He would never be so vulnerable as to let such a woman use him . A scheming woman of easy virtue would never get past the cold, protective shield he wore around his heart.
    "Coo, ain't yer the fine one. ” A brightly painted and feathered bawd accosted him now, startling his thoughts to the present. “Will yer buy me a bit o' gin  at the Cap 'n Crown, lovey?  I'll maike it worth yer while, I will."
    Garrick avoided such women as if they had the plague. Indeed the disease they carried could be just as injurious. “Most definitely not!”   Without even a grimace of pity Garrick strode on by.  He felt deeply moved by urchins, waifs, beggers and the like and showed them generosity whenever he could, but he was bitterly contemptuous of women who strutted about the streets and sold themselves to any available man.
    "Clean yer boots, Sir?  Shoeblack, yer Honour!  Black yer shoes, Sir!"  A boy stepped out from the crowds carrying his three-legged stool and a pot of blacking.  Clutching his brushes , he looked so forlorn that Garrick paused to let him black his boots though they needed no such tending.
    "A hurried shine is all that I need."  Garrick was no true dandy though he thought of himself as fashionable.  A true dandy spent too much money, time and trouble for his liking.  All out of proportion to sensibility.  Unlike Oliver, Garrick could not spend hours discussing the shape of his cravat nor did he shrink with horror at sight of a badly cut coat.  Even so, he was an elegant sight in beaver hat, tan breeches and square-cut black coat, double-breasted and long in the lapel.  He carried a cane which he planned to wield should a cause arise and a large leather case stuffed to capacity with Oliver's drawings.  He would guard the plans as diligently as if they were his own.
    "There ye be, Sir.  Maide yer boot s look as good as new, I did."
    "So you did.  Here, take this shilling in token of my gratitude," bending down Garrick pressed the coin into the boy's hand.  It was the payment for at least ten shoeshines or more.
    "Blimey!  Thank ye, Sir!"  Biting the coin to ascertain tha t it was real, the bootblack beamed his gratitude, then hurried off down the quay just as an approaching night watchman announced the time.
    "Nine o'clock and all is well.  Bit o' fog a comin' in."  The watchmen, affectionately dubbed Charleys, had several duties besides announcing the time.  It was their business to