Lord Harry's Folly (15 page)

“Do let me make it a present to you, my dear,” Lady Louisa said. “After all, I didn’t get you a birthday present.” She had, but she lied well to her sister-in-law, just hoping that Hetty had forgotten.

Hetty had forgotten. If only Lord Harry would complete his vendetta with the Marquess of Oberlon so that Henrietta Rolland could emerge into society as she really was. Only then could she wear the lovely gown.

When the ladies returned to Sir Archibald’s town house, they found Sir John in the drawing room, dressed in severe black evening clothes, his cravat meticulously arranged by his perfectionist valet, Planchard. To Lady Louisa’s fond eye, he presented a very handsome picture. Hetty appeared to agree with Lady Louisa, exclaiming, “Good heavens, Jack. What a handsome devil you are.”

He grinned engagingly down at her from his noble height. “Damned if you aren’t right, little one. I suppose that I haven’t a groat to my name with both of you gone for such a long time.”

“Two groats left,” Louisa said.

“I’ll even add a groat if you’re going to insult us,” Hetty said. “You only purchased me a belated birthday present.” Hetty pulled up short and looked at him, cocking her head to the side, for there was a certain smugness in his smile. “All right, Jack. What have you done? Come clean, else you won’t leave this drawing room alive.”

He flicked an invisible speck of something from his coat sleeve. “I, ah, well, my dear sister, I’m glad you’ve arrived home in time to make yourself beautiful. Er, even more beautiful, I should say.”

“Beautiful? Why? What’s this all about? Come clean, what the devil have you done, Jack?”

“If you must know, my dear, we will be having a guest for dinner this evening. Don’t worry, for I have already spoken to Mrs. Miller and she’s right now in a dither of cooking. I believe, Lou, that you will be quite pleased.”

“Who the devil is coming to dinner?” Hetty said, poking him in his massive chest with her finger. “Tell me now, and wipe that idiot grin off your face, or I’ll give you to Louisa for some more training and taming.”

“Very well, I’ve invited Jason to dinner.”

Hetty frowned, for she knew no gentleman named Jason. To her surprise, Louisa flung herself into her husband’s arms. “Oh how wonderful, Jack. It’s been an age since we’ve seen him. Is he quite recovered from his tragedy?”

“I don’t know, Lou. You’ll have to judge for yourself.” Sir John was aware of the irrepressible gleam of matchmaking in his wife’s eyes. He probably had the same gleam himself.

“Jason who?” Hetty said, tapping her foot.

Sir John looked mildly surprised, then shook his head. “I guess you wouldn’t have met him yet, Hetty. He only just returned to London. When he and I were close, you were still in the schoolroom. He’s Jason Cavander, the Marquess of Oberlon.”

“Lord Oberlon,” she repeated, her brain numbed, her voice flat as her chest was when she was fifteen. “Lord Oberlon,” she said again. “You know the marquess? Jack, how come you to know him?”

Louisa said, “Ah, you didn’t know that Jason Cavander and Jack were thick as thieves some years ago? They were both in the same college at Oxford.”

Hetty shook her head, couldn’t seem to take it in. But it was true. She said finally, “Did Lord Oberlon also know Damien back then?”

“Of course,” Sir John said. “Not as well as I did, of course, for they were separated by some five years. He promised me to keep an eye on Damien whenever he was in London, after Lou and I married and left for Herefordshire. He’s the best of fellows, poor chap.”

By God, she thought. How could Jack be so taken in? He believed that vile man to be his friend? Was he bloody blind? Had he no sense at all? Words tumbled out of her mouth, unchecked. “How dare you invite Lord Oberlon here? I’m mistress of this house, and you had no right to invite anyone without my leave, damn you.”

Louisa gasped.

“Well, what’s done is done. Since you, Jack, have invited that despicable man to this house, he can’t now be uninvited. But I tell you, Jack, I will have none of him. Do you hear me?” She drew to an abrupt halt, realizing how much she’d just blundered. Sir John and Lady Louisa, mouths agape, stared at her.

Sir John was the first to recover his tongue. “What the devil are you talking about, Hetty? How can you possibly become such a shrew over a man you’ve never met? Damnation, girl, this passes all bounds. What do you mean he’s despicable? That’s utter bloody nonsense.”

Her brother’s words had a calming effect on her. She drew a deep, shaking breath and said, “Please forgive my ranting, Jack, Louisa. You will, I pray, give Lord Oberlon my apologies.” She backed toward the drawing-room door. “Unfortunately, I’m already engaged for the evening, and indeed, must go now and dress. I shan’t be home until very late, so please don’t wait up for me. I shall see both of you in the morning.”

“But, Hetty, we are just arrived. Surely you can send word, you can”

“I’m sorry, Louisa, truly I am, but I can’t. It’s an engagement of long standing. There’s no choice at all. I must attend.” She saw the flushed anger on her brother’s face, and before he could demand an explanation of her, she grabbed up her skirt and fled the drawing room.

“This is a fine kettle of fish,” Millie said after Hetty told her what had happened. “Well, there’s no hope for it. You must leave, Miss Hetty. I can’t imagine that the marquess is a stupid man. He is certain to recognize you, or at least wonder about you. And, knowing you, you couldn’t keep a civil tongue in your head where he is concerned. Lord, I can just see Miss Henrietta Rolland challenging him to a duel.”

“Of course you’re right,” Hetty said, only to whirl about when there came an urgent knock on the door.

“Hetty, Hetty, my dear.” It was Louisa. “Can’t I speak to you for just a moment?”

Hetty steeled herself. “I’m sorry, Louisa, but I must hurry. I mustn’t be late. Please, Louisa,” she added, a plea in her voice, “just leave me be. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Hetty heard her sister-in-law sigh deeply. She could easily picture the troubled, confused look on her face. She didn’t move or again speak, and, at last, she heard Louisa’s retreating footsteps down the corridor.

“Damn,” Hetty said. She saw the marquess as she’d seen him the previous night, Lord Harry’s insults cold and clear, not making a particular impact on him, damn him. Would he know her if he saw her as Henrietta Rolland? She knew, deep down, she knew that he would.

Millie said quite calmly, “If you don’t leave soon, you just might meet Lord Oberlon on the doorstep. That would be another fine kettle of fish.”

Ten minutes later, Hetty was clutching her cloak about her shoulders and peering outside her bedroom door. It appeared that Jack and Louisa were either in their room, or downstairs awaiting the marquess. She slipped quietly to the servants’ stairs and made her way quickly down to the side entrance, Millie following closely behind her. “You stay here,” Millie said, “I’ll fetch a hackney.” Millie disappeared around the corner and Hetty huddled back against the servants’ entrance until she heard the sound of carriage wheels drawing to a halt in front of the house.

“Psst! Come, Miss Hetty.”

Hetty slipped from her hiding place and hurried around the corner to a waiting hackney. “You take care, Miss Hetty. I’ll be waiting for you. It doesn’t matter what time it is. I’ll be here, just inside the servants’ entrance.”

Upon the arrival of the Marquess of Oberlon, Grimpston bowed lower than was his wont, indeed, lower than his stiff back normally allowed him to. He recognized the signal honor paid to Sir Archibald by the visit of such an exalted personage, and made haste to lead his grace to the drawing room.

“His grace, the Marquess of Oberlon,” he announced in a deep, rich voice. Both Sir John and Lady Louisa gave a guilty start, for he had been the subject of their conversation.

Louisa recovered herself quickly, jumping to her feet. “Jason, oh goodness. How very marvelous to see you again.”

“You are as beautiful as ever, Louisa,” he said in her ear as he swept her up in his arms. “When will you leave this oversized oaf and come away with me?”

Sir John looked benignly upon this scene, then stepped forward and clasped Jason Cavander’s hand in a strong grasp.

“Beautiful she may be, Jason, but you’d soon be back at my door begging me to take her back. It would look damned awkward, you know, prancing all over Europe with a pregnant lady in tow.”

“Good God,” the marquess said, holding Louisa back in the circle of his arms. He gave her a dazzling smile that revealed his strong white teeth. With his face deeply tanned from the harsh Italian sun, he looked so devastatingly handsome that Louisa thought Hetty must assuredly have lost her wits to have taken him into such strong dislike.

He added, “It would appear that I’m to be surrounded by pregnant ladies. Kate St. Clair is also breeding. Julien told me of it just this morning.”

“Yes, Hetty told us.” Louisa gave her husband a wild look and bit her tongue.

“Hetty?” he said, looking down at her, then over her head at Sir John.

“My little sister,” Sir John said shortly. “Ah, a glass of sherry, Jason?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” the marquess said easily, giving no sign that he’d noticed anything amiss. “Come, Louisa, let’s sit down. It’s only right that little John waits on you now. Tell me, how did all this come about?”

Louisa gave a trill of laughter, poked him in the arm, and conversation turned to the five-year-old heir, Little John. The marquess spoke about how fast the time went now. As he sipped at his sherry, he said, “I begin to think my presence this evening has put you out. Does no one live in this house when you aren’t here?”

As if to a cue on the theater stage, the drawing-room door opened and Sir Archibald entered, the habitual look of distraction on his face disappearing at the sight of the marquess.

“My boy, welcome to my home. How are your dear mother and sister?”

“Both are quite well, sir.” The marquess shook Sir Archibald’s hand. “You recall, of course, that my sister, Alicia, married Henry Warton last summer.”

Sir Archibald had no such memory of either the sister or the marriage, but he nodded in gentle agreement. He asked, “Warton? Is that Sir Waldo Warton’s son? Excellent, just excellent. Good Tory family, the Wartons.”

The marquess wondered with a sinking in his stomach if Sir Archibald would beleaguer the company with Tory tales. He reckoned without Louisa.

Artfully, over the first course at dinner, she maneuvered the conversation to the sights they should visit in Paris and the people that they would be meeting. The Bourbon Louis was discussed at length, but only in terms of the festivities offered by the French court at this time of year. By the main course of flaky fish in a rich wine sauce, the marquess found himself describing the wonders of Italy. In deference to the polite company, he dwelled upon the spectacular ruins, the endless number of paintings of the Virgin Mary and Child, and the warmth of the weather.

Sir John was pleased with his father. His sire asked such sensible questions, with no political overtones, at least to Sir John’s sensitive ears, that by the time Grimpston served apple tartlets topped with rich whipped cream, he was quite in charity with his father.

“I say,” Sir Archibald said suddenly, “I thought something was not quite right. Where is dear Hetty?”

Louisa’s eyes flew to her husband’s face. Seeing no immediate help from that quarter, she said with as much nonchalance as she could muster, “Hetty was otherwise engaged this evening, Sir. She regretted that she couldn’t be here, but she wasn’t able to cancel.”

“But where did she go? I swear she said nothing about an evening out to me.” Sir John could only stare at his father. He would have sworn that Sir Archibald didn’t even know the color of Hetty’s hair.

“Ah, to Covent Garden,” Louisa said, and nearly choked on a bite of the apple tartlet.

At last she could rise and she did so. However, she was stopped by her father-in-law. He rose and smiled in a general sort of way at everyone at the table. “I hope you young people will excuse me. There are pressing matters of economics that the Prime Minister has asked me to look into. I mustn’t shirk my duty no matter how delightful the company I am forced to leave.”

As the door closed behind Sir Archibald, Sir John said, grinning at his wife, “At least Jason understands Father’s preoccupations, Lou. Isn’t your uncle, Lord Melberry, also a rabid Tory?”

“Yes, and it quite drives me to sleep. I hope you’ll agree, Jack, that we don’t need to have our port this evening? I find myself far more animated in Louisa’s company than in yours, old fellow.”

“He’s a damned rake, Lou,” Sir John said. “I should probably keep you hidden in the wilds of Herefordshire while the fellow’s running loose in London.”

Louisa gave her husband a wicked smile. “You’re one to talk, Jack. The stories Jason’s told me about you. My ears turned red and if you’d been married to me at the time I would have boxed your ears.”

“Well, enough of that,” Jack said and sped into the drawing room, leaving his wife and his friend laughing at his retreating back.

Louisa played a Mozart sonata for them. They drank tea and ate Cook’s delicious lemon cakes. The marquess sat back in his chair and said suddenly, “You were always an abominable liar, Louisa. Covent Garden? Had you been in town but several more days, you would have heard that the play there is vulgar in the extreme and not fit for a young lady. I gather that Hetty is a young lady?”

“Oh,” Louisa said.

Sir John tugged at his cravat. “Damnation, I don’t believe this, Jason. If you would know the truth, Lou and I really have no idea where Hetty is this evening.”

A dark brow arched up a good inch. “May I inquire as to the age of your sister, Jack?”

“Dammit, she’s eighteen.”

The black brow remained arched.

“Oh, very well. It seems my sister, for some reason unknown to either Louisa or me, holds you in strong dislike. We don’t understand this at all because we don’t think she even knows you.”