Read The Birth of Blue Satan for Free Online

English, he held no levees or drawing rooms. He did not yet keep a public table or admit gentlemen to his bedchamber. If it were not for the drawing rooms held by the Prince and Princess of Wales, which he occasionally graced, few people would have seen him.
     
    But Sir Harrowby, through connections on his mother’s side, had been allowed to approach King George on more than one evening, when his Majesty received visitors in his private closet. Such admittance could only be gained through introduction by a gentleman of the bedchamber or a secretary of state, so undoubtedly Sir Harrowby had reason to hope.
    Unfortunately, no Royal Household office could ever compete with a peerage, especially a grand title with its accompanying estates and income for furniture, jewels, and gowns. Sir Harrowby stood little chance in the race for Isabella’s hand.
    Right now he seemed content to stand at Mrs. Mayfield’s side and entertain her while the Duke of Bournemouth approached Isabella to claim her hand for his promised dance.
    The throng parted to allow his Grace to make his way across the floor. With all eyes drawn to Isabella, the recipient of his favour, Hester could almost taste her aunt’s elation.
    The Duke’s black habille à la française , with its elaborate silver embroidery, cast even the elegant Sir Harrowby’s coat into the shade. Diamonds twinkled from the folds of lace at his Grace’s throat and from the chain across his chest. A large ruby flashed from a ring, and silver ribbons fluttered brightly at his knees. When Mrs. Mayfield made him her deepest, most reverent curtsey, his nod in her direction was perfunctory at best. His acknowledgement of Sir Harrowby, a noted leader of fashion, was only slightly more polite. To Hester Kean, a spinster of no repute or fortune, he paid no notice at all.
    Privately, Hester doubted that his Grace’s intentions were of the sort that led to marriage, but she kept her cynical reflections to herself. They were certain to be unwelcomed by her aunt, whose ambition knew no bounds and whose heart was firmly set on being mama to a duchess. If Hester had thought Isabella’s heart engaged, she might have issued her a warning. But as matters stood, she did not believe Isabella would suffer overmuch if and when the Duke passed her over for a more suitable bride. Hester’s only concern was for Lord St. Mars, whom she deemed more worthy of Isabella’s affections than any other of her suitors, and whom she would hate to see cast down if cast aside.
    “‘Pon rep!” Sir Harrowby’s indignant tone caught her attention. He had turned his gaze from the retreating couple to raise his prospect glass to his eye and was examining a tall gentleman just entering the room. “‘Tis that fellow, Letchworth, by gad! What can have possessed Eppington to invite him?”
    “Lud, Sir Harrowby! Do you not know he is received by everybody, even his Grace? They say he is possessed of the greatest fortune in London and that even his Majesty approves him. He keeps a fine stable and gambles his money like any gentleman. I know I should not be too proud to bestow my Isabella upon Mr. Letchworth if she could not do better for herself. Mr. Letchworth will do exceedingly well for one of the other young ladies present, I’m sure, and so her ladyship knows. Think of the jewels his wife will have!”
    The object of their speech made his way through the room, stopping only to give a short bark of greeting to one acquaintance, before directing his footsteps in their direction. Mr. Letchworth was an ill-favoured man, long-boned and large-featured, with a regrettable tendency to wear thick paint on his face. His clothes were costly, but tonight his coat of olive velvet did not sit well with his pasty complexion. He always seemed to have dressed hastily, though it was said he had the services of an expensive valet de chambre . It was as if the gold thread that adorned his stockings and the jewels that twinkled from his