doubted if the marquess had given up such pleasures even during his brief marriage to Elizabeth Springville.
She quickly forgot the marquess as Sir Harry confidently directed them into a spacious drawing room. He gave her a sly look. “Well, what do you think, Lord Harry? More elegant than you expected, eh?”
On first glance, Hetty was inclined to agree. The long, rectangular room was richly appointed with heavy crimson velvet hangings in marked contrast to delicately wrought clusters of chairs and sofas fashioned in the gold and white style of the late Louis. At least half a dozen black-clad footmen moved unobtrusively about the room, quantities of drink held on large silver trays. A closer look showed her that the occupants of the room were a far cry from the habitus of Almack’s. There were many more ladies than gentlemen present, and though they were garbed in keeping with the elegance of the room, there was more white bosom showing than Hetty ever considered possible without showing a navel as well. She noticed with growing dread that although conversation appeared lively and high giggling laughter was a commonplace amongst the ladies, the gentlemen still managed to caress and stroke any unclothed flesh that was near to them. She felt frightened and embarrassed to the tips of her toes at the spectacle before her. “What did you say, Harry? Oh, it’s elegant. You’re right. Why a more tasteful brothel I’ve never encountered.”
“Gawd, ain’t she ever a beauty,” Mr. Scuddimore whispered in awe, his widened eyes fastened upon an ethereal-looking girl whose shining hair lay long and thick and black as polished ebony down her slender back. Her brown eyes were curiously slanted at the corners, giving her an exotic appearance.
“Ah, I can see that you are taken with Lilly, young sir. She has come to us just recently from a faraway land called China. Most charming, is she not?”
Mr. Scuddimore jumped and reddened, unaware that his remark had been overheard. He turned, just as had Sir Harry and Lord Harry, to gaze into the light green eyes of a tall, willowy built woman, who, unlike the rest of the females in the vast room, was dressed in a blue velvet gown that revealed not one patch of bosom. The smile on her reddened lips was one of tolerant amusement. Hetty realized that she was the madam, the woman who procured and sold the bodies of these other women. Without thought to her precarious position, she looked the woman up and down, and said with all the haughty sang froid of a peer of the realm, “How interesting that you must needs search to the ends of the world to procure ladies for your establishment. Is procurement that difficult? Perhaps it is very costly?”
Chapter Six
Sir Harry shot a look of confused surprise at Lord Harry and Hetty forced herself to swallow her anger. She shrugged her shoulders and turned away from Madam Buxtell to look about the room.
“I’m Sir Harry Brandon, Lady Buxtell. Perhaps you remember me. I was here not above a month ago.”
Lady Angelique Buxtell, Martine DuBois by birth, cloaked her anger and forced a polite mask of recognition and welcome to her painted face. Actually, she had no memory of him at all, but he appeared eager to please, and somewhat embarrassed by his friend’s churlishness. Thus, she nodded her dark brown curls, only slightly brightened by the dye jar, and stretched her hand to Sir Harry. “Of course, Sir Harry, I remember you well. I see that you have brought two friends. Perhaps some champagne, cards, or pleasant conversation with one of my lovely girls?”
Mr. Scuddimore, having gathered his scattered wits back together, replied with unabashed directness to Lady Buxtell’s suggestion. “Didn’t come here for cards, ma’am. Already lost too much blunt to Lord Harry here.”
Ah, so the rude young man is a lord, Lady Buxtell thought, instantly revising her opinion and forgiving the insolence. Lords were, after all, the
She quickly forgot the marquess as Sir Harry confidently directed them into a spacious drawing room. He gave her a sly look. “Well, what do you think, Lord Harry? More elegant than you expected, eh?”
On first glance, Hetty was inclined to agree. The long, rectangular room was richly appointed with heavy crimson velvet hangings in marked contrast to delicately wrought clusters of chairs and sofas fashioned in the gold and white style of the late Louis. At least half a dozen black-clad footmen moved unobtrusively about the room, quantities of drink held on large silver trays. A closer look showed her that the occupants of the room were a far cry from the habitus of Almack’s. There were many more ladies than gentlemen present, and though they were garbed in keeping with the elegance of the room, there was more white bosom showing than Hetty ever considered possible without showing a navel as well. She noticed with growing dread that although conversation appeared lively and high giggling laughter was a commonplace amongst the ladies, the gentlemen still managed to caress and stroke any unclothed flesh that was near to them. She felt frightened and embarrassed to the tips of her toes at the spectacle before her. “What did you say, Harry? Oh, it’s elegant. You’re right. Why a more tasteful brothel I’ve never encountered.”
“Gawd, ain’t she ever a beauty,” Mr. Scuddimore whispered in awe, his widened eyes fastened upon an ethereal-looking girl whose shining hair lay long and thick and black as polished ebony down her slender back. Her brown eyes were curiously slanted at the corners, giving her an exotic appearance.
“Ah, I can see that you are taken with Lilly, young sir. She has come to us just recently from a faraway land called China. Most charming, is she not?”
Mr. Scuddimore jumped and reddened, unaware that his remark had been overheard. He turned, just as had Sir Harry and Lord Harry, to gaze into the light green eyes of a tall, willowy built woman, who, unlike the rest of the females in the vast room, was dressed in a blue velvet gown that revealed not one patch of bosom. The smile on her reddened lips was one of tolerant amusement. Hetty realized that she was the madam, the woman who procured and sold the bodies of these other women. Without thought to her precarious position, she looked the woman up and down, and said with all the haughty sang froid of a peer of the realm, “How interesting that you must needs search to the ends of the world to procure ladies for your establishment. Is procurement that difficult? Perhaps it is very costly?”
Chapter Six
Sir Harry shot a look of confused surprise at Lord Harry and Hetty forced herself to swallow her anger. She shrugged her shoulders and turned away from Madam Buxtell to look about the room.
“I’m Sir Harry Brandon, Lady Buxtell. Perhaps you remember me. I was here not above a month ago.”
Lady Angelique Buxtell, Martine DuBois by birth, cloaked her anger and forced a polite mask of recognition and welcome to her painted face. Actually, she had no memory of him at all, but he appeared eager to please, and somewhat embarrassed by his friend’s churlishness. Thus, she nodded her dark brown curls, only slightly brightened by the dye jar, and stretched her hand to Sir Harry. “Of course, Sir Harry, I remember you well. I see that you have brought two friends. Perhaps some champagne, cards, or pleasant conversation with one of my lovely girls?”
Mr. Scuddimore, having gathered his scattered wits back together, replied with unabashed directness to Lady Buxtell’s suggestion. “Didn’t come here for cards, ma’am. Already lost too much blunt to Lord Harry here.”
Ah, so the rude young man is a lord, Lady Buxtell thought, instantly revising her opinion and forgiving the insolence. Lords were, after all, the
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