Lord Harry's Folly (17 page)

Melissande made haste to reassure her slave.

“Oh no, my lord, your words are quite gratifying. Improvement would be nice, but you do well. It isn’t often that a gentleman such as yourself is so forthright and honest in his speech to me.”

It was fortunate that Hetty wasn’t sipping her sherry, for she would most assuredly have choked. So, my dear marquess, she thought gleefully, you don’t cozen your mistress with charming flattery. She is starving for it. A mistake, your grace. Now a woman will show you the way to your mistress’s heart.

“Beauty must always inspire truth, Melissande. Your face is the eternal food for gods, the gentleness of your person is the inspiration of the poets. Ah, dare I go on? No, I think not.”

Melissande was on the verge of placing herself in the slippers of the frail, weak heroine. For a brief moment, she even felt as though she could swoon in the most helpless fashion if this worshipful youth continued. If she swooned, she wondered if he would be strong enough to hold her. She controlled these fancies, and said, “Do tell me, Lord Monteith, you said you have viewed me from afar. Where, sir, was that? You see,” she added on a small sigh, “I’m not often out in company nowadays.”

“That is infamous. Dear ma’am, I cannot believe such a thing.”

Melissande lowered her vivid green eyes demurely and fingered the silken folds of her peignoir. “His grace, the Marquess of Oberlon, doesn’t care for the entertainment one enjoys at the theater or say, Vauxhall Gardens. At least not often. I must practically beg him.”

Scuddy leapt up, looking like a fox suddenly corned by the hounds. “The Marquess of Oberlon? Oh my God. Oh goodness. Oh, Lord Harry, say it isn’t so. We’ll be dead by morning.” Several drops of sherry splashed on Mr. Scuddimore’s red cabbage roses. He sputtered to regain his breath.

Hetty said easily, “Didn’t I tell you that our gracious hostess is a close acquaintance of Lord Oberlon, Scuddy? Well, no matter. Do sit down, Scuddy, and control yourself.” She chose to ignore the horror on Mr. Scuddimore’s face and turned quickly back to Melissande. “How very odd, to be sure. Why, Mr. Scuddimore and I often see his grace at White’s and, of course, riding in the park. But that, indeed, isn’t my concern, is it? Do forgive me, Melissande. You asked where we had drunk in your ethereal beauty, it was two weeks ago, at Drury Lane.” Pleased with herself for sowing seeds of discontent, Hetty willingly turned the topic. From the corner of her eye, she saw that Mr. Scuddimore wore a hunted look. He looked ready to write his will. She would tell him later that since he didn’t have all that many worldly goods to leave, he didn’t have to bother with a will.

Hetty was gratified to her toes when Melissande said suddenly, a warm glow in her eyes, “I believe I do remember remarking on you, my lord. Weren’t you seated in the pit, looking up at his grace’s box? Didn’t you smile at me? Ah, yes, I remember your smile, so very adoring.”

“Oh yes, adoring is just what I feel whenever I look at you, Melissande. I’m honored you remember me, for there were so many gentlemen vying to catch your eye, all of them adoring.” Hetty looked up at the ormolu clock on the mantel. Goodness, they had to leave. There was no way of knowing if Lord Oberlon would come tonight after he’d left Jack and Louisa. She quickly rose, Scuddy, scared to his toes, followed suit. Hetty managed to look chagrined and guilty and charming, a look that Millie had evaluated for her many times. “It was wrong of me to seek you out, Melissande, very wrong of me, yet I couldn’t help myself. Cupid’s arrow has pierced my breast. I know his grace such a proud, disdainful man wouldn’t be gratified if he discovered that one of your many adoring admirers had visited you unattended” Hetty let her voice trail off in meaningful silence, praying silently.

Melissande was much touched, more by Lord Monteith’s declared admiration of her person than by his concern over the marquess. She gazed at him under her lashes. He was much too young for her, admittedly, yet he was so much like the hero from her novel. She was far too experienced to believe that she would ever live under his protection, but she could see no harm in a light flirtation. She thought speculatively about Lord Oberlon. Perhaps just such a flirtation with a gentleman some years his junior would make him realize her value. Maybe, she thought, he would purchase her the phaeton and pair to keep her delicious person all to himself.

“Don’t concern yourself about Lord Oberlon. You’ve committed no impertinence, my lord, by visiting me.” She rose and laid her hand lightly on Lord Harry’s sleeve. “What is your direction, my lord, so that I may send word to you when the opportunity presents itself? I do love to ride in the park,” she added on a small sigh, a gutless sigh that that damned heroine would make. She even managed to wilt just a bit, but not enough to lose the impact of her cleavage.

Once Lord Harry’s direction was written down in a thin white book, Hetty clasped Melissande’s hand once again and brought it to her lips. “Au revoir, my goddess,” she said. Melissande’s flesh was warm and soft. Hetty felt distinctly odd, kissing another woman’s hand.

No sooner had the front door closed behind them than Mr. Scuddimore nearly tripped over his tongue with outrage. “Damn you, Lord Harry. Have you taken leave of your senses? That lady is under the protection of the Marquess of Oberlon. His grace, the Marquess of Oberlon. Jason Cavander. Good God, he would slit your throat without a second thought if he found out. Are you lost to all reason? By God, after your argument with the marquess at White’s” Mr. Scuddimore drew to a sudden halt, his brain having finally leaped to an obvious conclusion. “You’re doing this on purpose,” he said slowly. “You planned it. All that damned flattery to that empty-headed woman, all that praising of her eyebrows, all that silly mythology, all of it was a lie. You want to provoke the marquess. You want to enrage him, you want What do you want him to do, Lord Harry?”

Hetty poked him in the arm. She laughed. “Scuddy, you’ve misread the entire situation. I find Melissande lovely. I told you and Sir Harry that I don’t like to be bored. Melissande pleases my eye. So what if the Marquess of Oberlon is currently her protector? Things change. Who knows?”

“You’re being blind, Lord Harry. Unlike you, I wish to reach my thirtieth birthday. Powerful man, the marquess, powerful and ruthless. Not one to cross, that’s for sure. Ask anyone, he’s one of the best swordsmen in England. Come, Lord Harry, what is this all about?”

But Hetty only smiled and shook her head. “I just find his mistress lovely and to my liking,” was all she would say.

“No good will come of this, you’ll see.”

“Don’t fail me now, Scuddy. Now, I need a mare to escort the fair Melissande to the park. You will oblige me?”

Mr. Scuddimore drew up, mouth agape. He nodded his head from habit.

“Excellent. My thanks, Scuddy, and stop your worrying. All will be fine. Now, the mare has to be a bit showy perhaps white so Melissande can quite think of herself as a fairy princess. Yes, she would like that. Now, let me see, I think an emerald green velvet riding habit, with a dashing plumed hat, of course, would be just the thing to set off her beauty. Well, don’t stand there, Scuddy, it grows late, and I, for one, have much to do tomorrow. Don’t forget, a showy mare.”

Sir John didn’t waste any time. He yelled at his sister across the breakfast table, “Just where the devil were you, Miss? Damnation, it’s bad enough that Lord Oberlon knew you refused to be in the same house with him, but to boot, you stay out until all hours then sneak in the servants’ entrance. Damn it, Hetty, I won’t have it.”

She tried not to smile, but she could just picture herself telling her giant of a brother that she’d been visiting with Jason Cavander’s mistress, tell him that she’d insulted his grace in his own club, but that hadn’t done any good, so what was poor Lord Harry to do?

“I won’t have you grinning at me, damn you.” He pounded a fist onto the table, making the eggs jump. “Where were you? What were you doing?”

Louisa gently laid her hand over her husband’s. “It was awkward, my love. Unfortunately I made the situation worse. When Jason Cavander asked me where you were, I told him you were at Covent Garden.”

“Good God, Louisa Covent Garden. That’s too much. Goodness, no lady of any breeding would attend Covent Garden this week.”

“I wonder if you have any breeding,” Sir John said. “Stop dodging the issue. Where were you last night?”

Well, a lie it must be, Hetty thought as she gazed at her brother’s implacable face. “If you must throw such a tantrum about it, Jack, I’ll be glad to tell you. I wasn’t at Covent Garden but rather at Vauxhall Gardens. Lou got half of it right. Now, no more. I’m not a child and I shall do exactly as I like. Leave me be. Let’s talk about Paris.”

“By God, I feel pity for the poor mortal man who has the taming of you.”

Hetty unwisely said, “You wretched men. Why must you always think that if a woman shows any spirit at all she has to be tamed? Tamed? Like some sort of bloody animal. I had hoped that being married to Louisa would have given you more sense.”

“Hetty, Jack has sense, truly he does.”

“Not from what I see. You, Sir John, may be a domestic tyrant in Herefordshire, but here you have no authority at all. In short, dear Jack, I shall do exactly as I please, and with no interference from you. Now, finish your breakfast.”

Sir John’s fork clattered to his plate, this time sending his scrambled eggs plopping to the tablecloth. Before Hetty could draw another breath, he jerked her from her chair, clasped her about the waist, and lifted her above his head. He shook her until her teeth rattled.

“Jack dearest,” Louisa said, tugging on his sleeve, “you must remember that you’re just a wee bit larger than Hetty.”

But Hetty wasn’t the least bit afraid of Sir John’s attack. As he swung her above his head, she remembered times long ago when her giant of a brother would gleefully toss her about. “Oh, Jack,” she said between gasps of laughter, “you’re such a bully. I do love you so.”

He shook her once more, then lowered her to her feet. Slowly, he drew her against his chest.

Hetty snuggled her face against his shoulder and said, her voice breaking, “How I wish Damien were here. God, I miss him so much. Every day and I still miss him. I can’t bear it sometimes.” She burst into tears.

Sir John’s eyes met his wife’s above Hetty’s head. She nodded silently and slipped quietly from the breakfast room.

He gently stroked his sister’s soft fair curls, momentarily bereft of speech. It was several moments before he said softly, “I know, Hetty, I know. Damien was a part of me too. I miss laughing with him, hell, yelling at him. He was the finest of brothers.”

Hetty raised her tear-streaked face. “I’m sorry, Jack, for being so selfish. Of course you feel his death as strongly as I do.” She pulled herself suddenly from his arms and whirled about, pounding her fist upon the table. “It’s so damned unfair.”

She managed to gain control. “Forgive me again. I’ve upset you quite enough. Please, Jack, don’t worry about me. I go along quite well, really.”

Sir John sighed and patted her on the shoulder. “I suppose you do, Hetty. It’s just that Sir Archibald takes no notice of you and I do worry. So does Louisa. You’re so damned young.”

“Father is Father, Jack, and will never change. I am quite used to his ways, and, indeed, wish him to be no other way. He doesn’t interfere with my activities, you know.”

“Does that mean you still refuse to tell me why you didn’t wish to see Jason Cavander?”

For one long instant, Hetty wanted to pour out the truth to her brother, to tell him that Jason Cavander was no friend. She thought of the letter, safely locked in her dresser drawer, Elizabeth’s heartrending farewell to Damien. She shook her head, her tongue still. No, revenge was hers and Lord Harry’s. She realized that were she to tell him, and were he to believe her, the outcome could be disastrous. Jack was all the family she cared about, Sir Archibald being of little influence in her life. Were he to die in a duel, she would be alone. As would Louisa, little John, and the small unborn infant in Louisa’s womb. Yet, she couldn’t bring herself to lie outright to her brother.

“Please, Jack, don’t demand that I give you an answer. Suffice it to say that I loathe the Marquess of Oberlon. My reasons must remain my own.”

Sir John, his little sister’s defender, said, “He didn’t insult you, did he, Hetty?”

“No, he’s in no way offended Henrietta Rolland.”

“Good. It’s unimaginable, but still, I wish you’d talk to me, Hetty.”

“No, Jack, leave it be.”

He did then, saying as he took his leave of her, “Louisa wants to visit Richmond, a picnic, you know, and a visit to the maze. And tonight there is a masked ball at Ranleagh House. Lou told me she wants to recapture some of her wild youth before turning stout and matronly. You’re not promised to something tonight, are you? You will join us, won’t you, Hetty?”

A masked ball. She could act herself, without fear of discovery. “A masked ball, as in really masked?”

“Yes, you can cover yourself from toe to ear, if you like.”

“Ah, I should love that. I do wonder what Louisa’s going to wear.”

He watched her skip from the breakfast room, an eighteen-year-old girl. It had frightened him, that controlled anger, that too-old look on her face when she’d spoken of Jason Cavander. He remembered he’d also asked Jason the previous evening if he planned to attend. His grace’s reply had been quick, a wicked smile on his face. “I had planned to, Jack. Melissande would much enjoy herself. I don’t suppose your sister will be there? The one who dislikes me? The one I’ve never met?” Sir John had nodded, hopeful that Hetty would agree.

And now she had. Hopefully, he would discover this evening just why his little sister held one of his best friends in such dislike. He thought if Jason were to come close to Hetty, she might discover he wasn’t a bad sort after all. Since it was a masked ball, she could easily escape him if she really disliked him. As he strolled to Sir Archibald’s library to bid his sire a good morning, he grinned, wondering just how the devil his very experienced friend was going to react coming face to face with his sister.