Regency High Society Vol 7: A Reputable Rake / The Heart's Wager / The Venetian's Mistress / The Gambler's Heart

She could not help but laugh in return. ‘You might recall exactly who ended that first brawl.’

They reached the door to his box and halted, each smiling into the other’s eyes. ‘I recall it,’ he said, and for Morgana time seemed to stand still.

He opened the door, and the other ladies and Varney were crowded in the box saying their goodbyes. Sloane escorted Morgana to her chair and they were still standing next to each other when her uncle entered.

Morgana thought her uncle’s complexion in high colour. She turned to check the boxes, counting carefully to discover who it was he and half the gentlemen in the house visited.

In the fifth box over sat a brightly clad, auburn-haired woman holding court to several gentlemen who flocked around her. Her dress, while not scandalously low cut, none the less displayed to advantage her ample bosom. She looked the very paragon of fashion and gaiety. The woman caught Morgana’s eye and smiled.

‘Who is she?’ Morgana asked Sloane.

He frowned. ‘No one you should know, Miss Hart.’

Morgana glanced back at the woman. ‘Why not? Is she a demi-rep?’

He drew her from the edge of the box, making her turn away from the audience. ‘It would be best for you not to ask about such women.’

She pursed her lips. ‘I am not missish, Mr Sloane, as you well know. My uncle and Lord Poltrop visited that box. I saw them. I would like to know who she is.’

He shushed her again, something that always raised her hackles ever since she’d been a small child. She gave him a direct stare and waited.

He returned the stare, much too long for her to be comfortable. Finally, he spoke, ‘That is Harriette Wilson. She is a celebrated courtesan and not the sort of person a young lady of your station should know about.’

Morgana persisted, now more out of a desire to deflate his sudden prosiness than out of curiosity about the captivating Harriette Wilson. ‘Do you know her?’

He paused, their gazes still locked. ‘I am acquainted with her.’

She opened her mouth to ask him what he meant by that, when Hannah hurried over. Her friend had left, and she’d undoubtedly noticed her gentleman-of-choice had engaged in a brief conversation with someone other than herself.

The orchestra sounded its first chords and they all took their seats, Morgana feeling more stimulated by the brief conversation with Mr Sloane than anything else of that evening. She consoled herself that, since Sloane was Hannah’s probable fiancé, she might have other opportunities to converse with him.

She peeked at him. He would make an interesting friend, and she could content herself with that. Her gaze wandered back to Harriette Wilson. No one in that box paid the least attention to the performance on stage. They were riveted on Miss Wilson, who exuded self-assurance and charm, as well as a frankly sensuous appearance.

Even Morgana could recognise her allure, though she could not explain it. Suffice to say the gentlemen flocked around her, even though she was not a young woman, perhaps even near her father’s age.

Miss Wilson looked in the direction of their box, but not at Morgana this time. At Sloane.

What precisely had Sloane meant by being ‘acquainted’ with the celebrated courtesan?

Chapter Three

By the next afternoon, Morgana had quite settled in her mind that these frequent thoughts of Cyprian Sloane were entirely due to a month of inactivity and near social isolation. With the delivery of several dresses and more to come, she would soon have additional things to think about.

This night she would attend Almack’s with Aunt Winnie and Hannah and was quite happy that her new peach muslin was finished and ready to wear.

Of course, Morgana wondered if Sloane would find it becoming on her. She squared her shoulders. She was thinking nonsense again. Besides, it was entirely possible he would not even attend Almack’s.

Morgana donned her bonnet and walked out to the small patch of garden behind the town house, where Lucy, on her knees, was pulling weeds.

‘Hello, Lucy.’

The girl gave her no more than a brief glance before turning back to tug at some raggedy green invader among a small patch of lavender. ‘Good afternoon, miss.’

Morgana sat on the stone bench near where Lucy worked. The afternoon was warm enough for the lightest wrap and the sky was overcast with milky white clouds. ‘I thought now might be a good time for us to chat.’

Lucy tugged at another weed. ‘If you say so, miss.’

Morgana sighed. She might be pulling teeth, not weeds, for how easy this would be. ‘I do wish you would tell me—explain if you can—why you went with that man yesterday.’

‘I met him when I was at the shops.’ Lucy patted the dirt where it had loosened around the violets, not answering the question at all.

‘Did he approach you? What did he say to you?’ Morgana could not believe any girl would be so foolish as to allow such a man to speak to her.

‘You have the wrong of it.’ Lucy sat back on her heels and looked up at Morgana. “Twas I spoke to him. I knew what he was. He’s been about before.’

‘You approached him?’

Lucy nodded. ‘You’ll want to know why, but I don’t think it proper to tell a lady, such as y’rself.’

Morgana tried not to frown. ‘I assure you, Lucy. I have lived in the world. You will not shock me.’

Lucy’s eyes flashed sceptically. ‘You’ll not tell my sister?’

Morgana shook her head. ‘I will not.’

Lucy shrugged. ‘I suppose it don’t matter if you do. You’ll be letting me go after you hear what I done and then I’ll be gone anyway and none of m’family will speak to me then.’

‘I’m not trying to discover a way to be rid of you, Lucy.’

The sceptical look returned, as well as another shrug. ‘Well, I’ll tell you and we’ll see.’ She changed positions, sitting cross-legged at the edge of the flower bed. ‘You were told us Jenkins girls was honest, clean girls and that’s true enough of Amy.’

‘But not of you?’ Morgana tried to sound accepting of whatever the story would be.

‘Nay, miss. I’m a bad girl.’ She stared directly in Morgana’s eyes. ‘I’ve done it with men, you know. You know. Fornicating.’

Morgana remained steady. ‘Go on.’

‘More than once, miss. A lot of times, since I became pretty, you know. This man, he said I was friendly-like. He said he could tell that about me.’ She paused. ‘I didn’t know how he meant that at first, but then he showed me.’

Oh, dear God. When had this happened? The girl was only eighteen.

‘He gave me money for it,’ Lucy added. ‘So I did it again.’

Morgana closed her eyes for a moment.

‘I won’t tell you who it was, miss, so don’t ask me,’ she blurted in unnecessary defiance. ‘Coming here didn’t seem right, you see, after all that. You thinkin’ I was a good girl and treating me and Amy so nice.’

Morgana reached out to the girl, touching her on the shoulder. ‘Of course I would treat you nicely.’