Lord Harry's Folly (18 page)

While Sir John and Lady Louisa explored the maze at Richmond, Lord Harry trained his eyes on the circular targets set at twenty paces from the marking line at Manton’s and stroked the trigger. A shout went up from Sir Harry.

“Bravo, Lord Harry, yet another bull’s-eye. At twenty paces, too.”

Mr. Franks, the gruff, excellent attendant at Manton’s, added his praise. “An excellent marksman, ye be, my lord. Now, Sir Harry, ye see the way his lordship caresses the trigger, his eyes never leaving the target? Ye mustn’t be in a hurry, Sir Harry, no sir, never be in a hurry. Not with a lady, nor with a gun.”

Sir Harry grunted. “Well, I for one have had enough practice for one day. What say you, Lord Harry, I am off to Gentleman Jackson’s. You’ve never joined me, you know. Let us see if you’re as fine in the ring with your fists as you are at caressing triggers.”

Hetty handed the pistol to Mr. Franks before replying, “Harry, I’ve told you countless times that you could dash me down in but a moment in the ring. No, I thank you, but I’ve no taste or ability to embroil myself with fists. Besides, I have my fencing lesson in but an hour with Signore Bertioli.”

Appeased by Lord Harry’s frank admission of his superior skill at boxing, Sir Harry said, “Does the Italian think you’ve improved?”

“I think he’s from Sardinia, not Italy. Yes, he’s forever giving me encouragement, but I confess I believe his sense of diplomacy is stronger than his honesty.” Hetty didn’t add that Signore Bertioli had ceased several weeks ago to concern himself about her lack of endurance. All their time together was spent in practicing his master’s techniques delicate feints, subtle flicks of the wrist that could catch an opponent off guard.

“It isn’t a matter of life or death,” Sir Harry said. A queer gleam shone an instant in Lord Harry’s blue eyes, then disappeared.

Sir Harry said, eyeing his friend with suspicion, “Look here, now, Lord Harry, you aren’t thinking of a duel, are you? It isn’t done. It isn’t smart. My brother-in-law would have my innards for breakfast if I got involved in a duel.” Then he thought of the Marquess of Oberlon and the outlandish story he had heard just this morning from Mr. Scuddimore of their visit to Melissande’s house the previous evening. He blanched.

“Of course not, Harry.” She turned quickly from his inquiring gaze and allowed an assistant to help her into her greatcoat. With the knowledge that Jack and Louisa were leaving on the morrow, she said over her shoulder, “Why do you and Scuddy not come to my lodgings tomorrow evening? I promise you a substantial dinner, an excellent claret, and a sound thrashing at cards.”

“Sorry, but I’ve other plans for tomorrow night.”

“Does the fair Isabella Bentworth play a part in them?”

“No, she doesn’t, but it’s none of your business anyway. I almost forgot. My sister, Kate St. Clair, wants both of us to come to dinner tonight.”

“I’d like to, Harry, but I can’t. I promised I’d go to the masked ball at Ranleagh House.”

“Which one of you charming ladies is my Louisa?”

“My dear John, it’s obvious,” Sir Archibald said seriously, “Little Hetty is half a head taller than Louisa.”

“Right you are, Father. The short, plump one it is.”

“Louisa, hit him, he’s abominable.” Hetty was laughing, her eyes twinkling from behind the slits in her red mask.

“He’ll be sorry, Hetty. I intend to dance him into the ground this evening. You know these oversized men, no endurance. He’ll be begging for mercy. I think I just might try dancing on his big feet.”

“And I’ll be there to see it,” Hetty said. Then she thought: Endurance. Louisa knows nothing at all about endurance. Her arm still aching from the hour she had spent with Signore Bertioli.

“Father, we’re off. Have a pleasant evening.”

“Grimpston told me he’s off to Lord Melberry’s house,” Hetty said to her brother as she seated herself in their coach.

“Those damned and dratted Whigs again, no doubt,” Jack said. “Move over, Hetty, I’ve got long legs. Lou, you’re grinning and I don’t trust it. What are you thinking about? No, don’t answer. You’re going to tell Hetty how I found our way out of the maze.”

“Actually, I was thinking about your begging me to let you rest after your sixth dance.”

Hetty sat back, thinking of the evening ahead of her. Although Jack, in that big brother way of his, had demanded that Hetty stay close to him, parroting nonsense about there being too much license granted at a masked ball, she had no intention of doing so. The red mask gave her anonymity. Staying by Sir John, whose size and deep voice would be recognizable to even a slight acquaintance, she would be instantly known. She had every intention of thoroughly enjoying herself, and that meant keeping the dowdy Miss Henrietta Rolland as well as Lord Harry well in the shadows.

Her excitement mounted as the carriage pulled off the main road onto a long, circular graveled drive in front of Ranleagh House. It was a mammoth three-story building that sprawled atop a slight hill. Scores of lighted candles sparkled from every window, making it appear more a huge diamond, aglow against the backdrop of the black night. A seemingly endless line of carriages lined the drive, and it was with some difficulty that John coachman maneuvered around them to deposit Sir John, Louisa, and Hetty at the front stone steps.

They were met inside the front doors by a deeply bowing butler and three footmen, who deftly removed their cloaks. The laughter coming from the great ballroom down the corridor mixed with the strains of a fast German waltz made Hetty laugh aloud with anticipation. “Come, Jack, Louisa, don’t wait all night,” she said over her shoulder as she picked up her skirts and moved swiftly after the butler.

She paused for a moment at the entrance of the grand ballroom, taking in the imaginative decorations. Yards upon yards of red and white satin had been gathered at the ceiling and dipped down like countless sultan’s tents over the heads of the guests. Huge urns filled with every imaginable flower graced each corner, their sweet scent filling the room. There must not be a bloom left in the Ranleagh greenhouse, she thought, turning her attention to the magnificently arrayed guests. She laughed aloud her excitement as a gallant Robin Hood clad in forest green bowed low in front of her and offered his arm. Without a moment’s hesitation, she turned from Sir John and Lady Louisa, smiling at her brother over her shoulder, and whirled away with her partner into the throng of guests.

Sir John raised his hand to stop her. “Don’t you dare, Jack,” his wife said. “Let her enjoy herself. No harm can come to her here, and, you must admit, it has been too long a time since Hetty has showed such pleasure.” She clasped her husband’s hand. “As for you, my lord, it’s time to prove your mettle. I’ve been thinking what I’ll give you for a reward if you manage to dance every dance I wish you to.”

No sooner had Hetty’s Robin Hood left her than she found herself locked in the arms of an English knight. After several more waltzes and a score of country dances, Hetty’s feet felt as though she had danced with every gentleman in the room. Ah, but here was a Greek God. When she asked him if he was Zeus, he said in a very low voice that he was Bacchus and he fancied he could already taste the sweet wine on her lips, perhaps taste it other places as well, if she were willing.

Hetty pictured wine in her shoe. She laughed and laughed, pushing him away, and he went after easier game. At the end of another lively country dance, Hetty was shocked to hear her partner, a rather paunchy gentleman dressed as Louis XIV, say between heaving breaths that it was near to midnight.

“Midnight? But the ball just began. Surely you must be mistaken.”

“The time has flown by in your exquisite company, my Scarlet Queen,” he said. Hetty didn’t like his tone. It sounded husky and too low, just as Bacchus’s had sounded. She looked pointedly at his face and thought his eyes overly bright behind the white satin mask. So he’d had a bit too much of the champagne punch. The poor fellow wasn’t the least bit dangerous. She smiled. “I must leave your majesty now, for there are so many of your subjects awaiting the pleasure of your company.” She thought her parting line nicely diplomatic, and was thus utterly chagrined when the gentleman didn’t release her hand. “A king has but to command, my Scarlet Queen, and his wishes are fulfilled. You’re heated, my dear. May I suggest a stroll on the balcony? I have a fancy to see those white shoulders of yours, mayhap even uncover your breasts. You’ve not birthed a child yet, have you?”

Hetty gave him a disgusted look. How many gentlemen had she seen like this at White’s? But now she was a female and thus prey to him. She forgot charm and fell back on common sense. “A masquerade this may be, sir, but you are still a gentleman. I expect you to behave as one. Now, excuse me. I’m returning to my brother.”

The gentleman had other ideas. He laid his palm gently against her cheek. “No, my little innocent, I don’t want you to go just yet. I’ve watched you flirt outrageously with many gentlemen this evening. Now it’s my turn. As to your having a brother I don’t believe that for a minute. Tell me, who’s your protector?”

Just because she was a female she had to put up with this nonsense. If she’d had her pistol, she’d shoot him. She just looked at him with disgust, saying low, “You’re a bore, sir. I’ve enjoyed the evening until now. I’ve had fun. I haven’t flirted. If you are too stupid to know the difference then I suggest you return to your nanny so she can teach you. Perhaps she can also instruct you in good manners.”

He clutched her all the tighter.

“I really suggest you let me go or I promise you I will hurt you badly.”

“Hurt me? You hurt me? Ha, that’s funny, my girl. Come now, no need to play coy with me. I’ll see you continue to enjoy yourself. Why, please me and I just might consider setting you up.”

“I believe the lady is tired of your company, Your Majesty. Why don’t you take yourself off and take a little nap behind that palm tree over there. The music is loud enough so that no one will hear your snores.”

Hetty whirled about to see a tall man in a black domino and mask standing close behind her.

Louis XIV turned glittering eyes to the intruder. “I don’t know who you are, probably one of those gamblers who sneak into such functions as this. It doesn’t matter. You can’t have her until I am done with her.”

“What if I told you I was the lady’s protector?”

If Hetty had had her pistol, she would have shot this man between his eyes.

“Pah, she doesn’t have a protector, at least not yet. I just might offer, if she pleases me enough. Go away now. She’s mine.”

“I do wonder what lies beneath that white peruke,” the black domino continued in the same cold officious voice. “No doubt it covers an empty and foolish head. Leave go of the lady now, else I shall personally tip you over the balcony into the lovely fish pond just below.”

Louis XIV’s hand loosened slightly on Hetty’s wrist, and in his moment of uncertainty, she wrenched her hand away and moved back toward the black domino. Her anger with the man was now turning to amusement. She just shook her head at him. “Sir, this scene is becoming boring, indeed it is past boring. Please, just go now. Doubtless you will find a lady who has imbibed enough punch to find you quite acceptable. However, I do not.”

“Then I’ll give you all the punch you will need,” Louis XIV said eagerly.

“It would take two casks before you would be acceptable to me,” she said, and rolled her eyes when he looked thoughtful. “Three casks, at least,” she added. She knew the man in the domino was grinning like a sinner. Louis XIV said to her rather than to the man, “Three casks? You aren’t worth it. You’re probably very young. I won’t be your protector. I don’t want you. This damned wastrel can have you.”

“Why, thank you, Your Majesty.”

Hetty watched her erstwhile partner turn drunkenly and disappear into the crowd.

She turned and smiled up into the face of her rescuer. “You have wit and a sense of fun. The poor man is just too drunk to mind his manners. But now he is gone.”

“You don’t act at all like a damsel in distress.”

“Well no, why should I? He was just a man like any other man. I’m glad I didn’t have to hurt him.”

“Could you tell me exactly how you would have hurt him? I have never before met a young lady so confident in herself. It is refreshing. Actually, I’m pleased you weren’t a real damsel in distress. It might have become tedious.”

“Ah, I’m pleased I didn’t bore you.”

“Oh, not at all. As a matter of fact, I think you begin to fascinate me. Tell me, what would you have done to our poor drunken Louis?”

There was something vaguely familiar in the black domino’s voice, in his tone, and teasing deep laughter that stirred just out of reach in her memory. Suddenly, she wasn’t quite certain that her rescuer was any less dangerous than the Louis XIV. She sensed that he was pushing her to be outrageous. Behind the anonymity of her mask and domino, she willingly obliged him. Why not? She would never see him again, indeed, she would never see him at all. She was quite safe to do and say anything she wanted to. “Why, sir, I dare say I would have kicked him below his yellow waistcoat. If he’d been too drunk to feel that, then I wouldn’t have been in any trouble at all, would I? Now, sir, that you have amused yourself at my expense, I believe I shall go search out some amusement for myself.”

She saw his dark eyes flash suddenly, but his deep voice still held laughter as he said, “What an unusual young lady you are. Do you wish to leave my company because I interfered with your fun, or is it because you fear that my intentions may be as low as those of our departed Louis XIV?”

“Your intentions can scrape the floor for all I care, sir. I really don’t care. And I’m not afraid of you.”

“That’s excellent. A wilting lady would be too much to bear. I dearly love to waltz. Surely you would not refuse to dance with the poor mortal who mistakenly thought to be chivalrous?”

“You’re unscrupulous. You’re also using wit rather than brawn. I shall reward you. Lead on.”