Lord Harry's Folly (14 page)

“Oh yes. Who wouldn’t welcome such a nobleman as myself to his home?”

The earl of March just grinned at him and rose to take his leave. “You will take care, won’t you, Jason?”

“As always,” the marquess said.

“Oh my goodness, Miss Hetty, do wake up now. You’ll not believe who just landed on our doorstep. Oh lordie, what a shock it is.”

Hetty jerked the covers over her head. “Oh, Millie, no, not yet. It can’t be time for luncheon, not yet, please. Just another thirty minutes, even twenty.”

“Come, Miss. It’s Sir John and Lady Louisa. Sir John was surprised that you weren’t up and about.”

“But I have a hangover. You wouldn’t believe the number of bottles of champagne well, that’s neither here nor there. Jack and Louisa, here? But no one told me they were coming. You’re right, what a shock.”

“They’re here nonetheless. In the drawing room, Miss, with Sir Archibald. You might well guess that he’s fairly itching to be gone. You must hurry, else they will be left quite alone with poor Grimpston wringing his hands.”

Hetty groaned and swung her bare feet to the floor, wiggling her toes about for the warmth of her slippers. “Is Little John with them?”

“No, just their servants and mountains of luggage. Blink your eyes, Miss Hetty. It will make the puffiness go down. Here now, here’s your shift. Ah, you have a royal headache, do you? A hangover, you said? You?”

Hetty just groaned.

“My baby has a hangover. The good Lord preserve us, a hangover, just like a bloody man. No, don’t hold your head in your hands. You’ve got to be still. Your hair is a mess of tangles.”

Hetty moaned. “Bring me some coffee first, Millie. If you don’t want me to die, bring me coffee.”

After two cups of coffee and holding her face in ice-cold water for three minutes, Hetty decided she would live. Not twenty minutes after that decision, she was walking down the main staircase, wondering what in heaven’s name Jack and Louisa were doing in London, and with no warning.

Grimpston was waiting for her at the foot of the stairs. “Sir Archibald just retired to his study. Mrs. Miller will bring tea and morning cakes to the drawing room within the next five minutes. Sir Jack and Lady Louisa are comfortable but getting restive.”

“Thank you,” she said, and nearly ran to the drawing room. “Jack, Louisa. How wonderful to see you.” But why, she wanted to demand, didn’t you at least write me a letter?

She took two quick steps into the room and found herself swooped up in a tight embrace. “Ah, Jack, you wretched giant, you’re breaking my ribs.” She was laughing, her arms tight about her brother’s neck.

“Don’t crush her just yet, Jack. I want to hug her first.”

“My little Hetty’s made of stern stuff, Lou,” Sir John said, but drew back, releasing Hetty. He studied her pale face and felt the months roll back to the past summer. Damn, she was still mourning Damien. He suppressed his own pain at the thought of his brother, and said, lightly cuffing her shoulder, “Not on the go too much, are you, kitten?”

Hetty saw the concern in her brother’s blue eyes. She couldn’t see herself telling him she’d drunk too much champagne with her cronies the night before and was suffering for it this morning. “Oh no, don’t worry about me. But you know, London is a busy town and there’s so much to do. Everyone here is always struggling to get enough sleep. Now, let me go, for it has been an age since I’ve seen Louisa.”

Hetty gathered the smaller Louisa into her arms and kissed her cheek. “You’re looking wonderful. So marriage with my brother here suits you?”

“I nearly have him trained, Hetty. He scarcely ever tries to climb on the furniture or whines at the front door.”

There was a loud snort from Sir Jack.

Louisa just grinned, then took both Hetty’s hands into hers and smiled. “You grow more lovely by the day, my dear Hetty. And that paleness Jack so heartily condemns is all the style. At least it used to be. Come, my dear, let’s sit down. You must tell me all the latest gossip.”

“First, Louisa, tell me what you are doing here in London? And where is Little John?”

Sir John sat back in a chair that creaked under his weight. “It just so happens, little sister, that London is merely the first stop for Lou and me. Yes, we’ve got places to go and things to do. Paris is our final destination.”

“Paris? Louisa, I began to think you are no mortal woman. However did you manage to pull Jack from his cows and crops? Goodness, you certainly have trained him well.”

“All right, both of you females. Lou knows I’m a man who keeps to his word. I promised my sweet malleable little wife a holiday before she got too fat to travel.”

“Fat? Louisa’s not fat. You’re wretched, Jack, to tease her like that.”

“Er, Miss Hetty.”

“Yes, Grimpston. Ah, here’s the tea and morning cakes. How lovely everything looks. Do thank Mrs. Miller.”

She handed her brother the plate of cakes, saying, “Now, Jack, what do you mean you’re taking her to Paris before she gets too fat?”

Sir Jack had a mouthful of seed cake. It was quickly gone. “Goodness, little sister, what an innocent you are. Are you eighteen? Time you learned a bit more about life.”

“Jack, don’t tease your sister. What my darling husband refers to, my dear oh well, I’m breeding. It’s only fair, he told me, that we have a second wedding trip before we have a second child.”

“Oh, how marvelous. I’m so happy for you. Goodness, I believe your babe will be born about at the same time as Kate St. Clair’s.” She bit her tongue. Damnation, how could she imagine that Miss Henrietta Rolland could have ever met the earl and countess of March. “But that’s not important. Where are you staying in Paris? How long will you be there?”

“Did you hear that, Lou? Our Hetty’s made some powerful friends. So you’ve been rubbing shoulders with the countess of March, have you?”

Drat your tenacious mind, Jack, Hetty thought, wanting to hit him and then herself. “Not exactly,” she said. “I just know of her, that’s it. I just hear things and that was one of the things I just happened to hear.”

“Don’t you know, Hetty, that Jack has known Julien St. Clair, the earl of March, for quite a few years. Neither of us has met his countess as of yet. I understand she’s a charming girl.”

Hetty pictured Kate St. Clair in her tight black breeches with a foil in her hand, mercilessly goading her husband. “Yes, that is what I’ve heard, too.”

“Enough gossip, ladies. Tell us, Hetty, what have you been up to for these past months?”

Hetty silently breathed a prayer of thanks to Lady Melberry. She launched into a description of the soirée she had attended, embroidering upon the event sufficiently to lead Louisa and Jack to believe that she had been gaily flitting from one party to another. As she prattled on, she chanced to see her brother gaze meaningfully at his wife. She said, “Did you believe I was sitting about still mourning Damien?”

Sir John said, “Don’t deny us the right to be concerned about you, Hetty. We had thought you weren’t going out at all since that Worthington woman left you months ago.”

“Don’t worry about me, either of you. I do go to routs and parties and there are always kindly dowagers about to chaperone me. Now,” she said abruptly, her chin going up. “Enough about me. Do tell me about what you think of Mavreen. Does she get along well with Little John and Nanny?”

Neither Sir John nor Lady Louisa were ready to delve more deeply. Louisa said, “Mavreen is a dear girl. Jack thinks so, too. Little John adores her. She’s the only one in his confidence now. Here he is only five years old and he’s in love. And not with his mother. He has even shown her his rock collection. She is one reason why we have no second thoughts about leaving him for a while. Hardly a sad look he could muster when we took our leave of him.”

“Thank you for taking her into your home. I prayed she would work out well for you.”

Sir John stretched out his long, muscular legs toward the fireplace, and said with a frown darkening his brow, “There must be many such waifs as she, I fear. Many such men as her uncle Bob were hailed as heroes, yet the government did naught for their widows and children. At least we have all done the right thing in this one instance. Don’t worry about her, Hetty. She’s safe and content with us. We will see to her future.”

Lady Louisa said, “She’s such a bright, pretty girl. Jack’s right. And when the time comes, we will see to it that she makes a suitable marriage. In the meanwhile, she will have the security of wages and a good home.”

She wanted to cry, she was so relieved, but she managed to swallow down the sob. She tried to smile, and was saved by her perceptive brother. He said, laughing, “Our father never changes. Lord, Hetty, how do you ever manage the care of him?”

“Ah, a fine question. Do you know that the servants tell me that Sir Archibald’s schedule is a flawless clock. Once, but last week, he had luncheon with one of his Tory cronies, and left the servants bewildered for the remainder of the afternoon. My only interference has been to give Cook the hint never, never to serve any dish to him that contains even the remotest suggestion of corn.” At the puzzled frown on Louisa’s face, she added with a grin, “You must know that the wretched Whigs are brewing all sorts of mischief with the Corn Laws. I don’t think that I could endure another impassioned lecture on their collective deceit, which, I assure you, would be the outcome.”

Sir John said, sitting forward in his chair, “I would never, of course, even dream of talking politics with Father. Yet, being a farmer myself, I begin to see that there are flaws with our new Corn Laws. Not importing corn until our own English corn reaches eighty shillings a quarter well, it seems to me that our poorer people are going to have a hard time of it. Already the price of bread is out of reach for the poor wretches in the larger cities. Damien, I know, was beginning to grow quite concerned about the worsening conditions, particularly in Manchester. I can remember him saying that in not too many years there would be trouble there and demand for sweeping reforms. Damnation, I wonder if Father will ever admit to the fact that there are other points of view.”

“You speak blasphemy, Jack.” Hetty swept her eyes heavenward for forgiveness. “Father was born a conservative Tory and he will die a conservative. Actually, he’s beyond a mere conservative. I don’t think there’s really a party for him, but he strives to bring all his cronies into his way of thinking.”

Louisa rose suddenly and shook out her stylish traveling skirt of twilled gray muslin. Sir John, seated, was nearly the height of his wife standing. She leaned over and kissed him lightly on the lips, then remarked in a teasing voice to Hetty, “You see, my dear, how you deal with one of his size? You must show affection to your oversized brother when he’s seated. It quite saves one from being crushed or getting an ache in one’s neck. Now, Jack, you have done your duty. Both Hetty and I excuse you. You’re probably itching to visit your clubs, to hear all the manly gossip.” She turned to Hetty, eyes twinkling. “Men’s gossip, I think, is very much like our gossip, only it would take torture for Jack to admit it. Now, Jack, I will see that Planchard unpacks for you and lays out your evening clothes.”

“Dismissed by a little slip of a girl who hardly reaches my chest. I ask you, Hetty,” Sir John continued, rising from his chair, “should I box her ears for such an impertinence or kiss her for being so adorable?”

“Kiss her, Jack,” Hetty said. “Although it appears you’ve already done a lot more than just kissing.”

“My sister, the virgin,” Sir John said, and grinned.

“Off with you, Jack. I don’t wish to see that insufferably grinning face of yours until dinner.” It was Louisa who kissed her husband.

“She leads me about by the nose, Hetty.” Sir John gave his sister a gentle pat on the cheek and strolled from the drawing room, humming a tune whose words were best left unspoken and unsung.

Hetty led her sister-in-law up to the blue guest room to chat about styles, Little John’s immense talent in singing, and the new baby that nestled inside its mother’s womb. It was finally Lady Louisa who changed the topic of conversation from her own concerns to Hetty’s. She gazed pointedly at the hem of Hetty’s gown, that was, unfortunately, several inches too short, and said, “You’ve grown taller since last I saw you, Hetty. I hope that your party gowns are sufficiently long to cover your ankles. Come, love, show me your wardrobe, for if you have need of something, I would like very much to go shopping this afternoon.”

As Hetty could think of no polite way to keep Louisa from seeing her pitifully few dresses, she agreed, hoping that at the worst, her sister-in-law would only think her guilty of bad taste.

Louisa made a rapid inspection. She was appalled by the outmoded gowns and wondered just exactly what Hetty wore to all the parties she attended. Because she knew Hetty’s pride to be as great as Sir John’s, she held her tongue, and silently determined to get Hetty to a dressmaker’s that very afternoon under the guise of selecting several new gowns for herself. Unjustly, she blamed Sir Archibald for not providing Hetty sufficient funds to gown herself properly. Didn’t the wretched man realize that a young lady preparing to embark on her first full season was in need of gowns that did not positively shout that she was fresh from the country? Of course he could never realize any such thing.

Hetty agreed to Louisa’s proposed shopping expedition in good humor, knowing full well that her sister-in-law was shocked by her meager wardrobe. Well, she could hardly tell Louisa that Lord Harry was excessively expensive to dress. There was no reason to spend any grouts on Henrietta who was, after all, a mouse and needed only a pair of spectacles and a pea green gown and matching cap.

Hetty knew a moment of fear when they entered her father’s carriage, bound for Madame Brigitte’s. She could only hope that Lady Melberry and the other ladies she had met at the soiree wouldn’t be out and about. Upon their arrival at the select little shop on Bond Street, Hetty’s eyes darted to every corner of the fashionable outer display salon in search of anyone who might recognize her. My luck is holding so far, she thought to herself. She then turned her attention to a very décolleté cerulean blue satin gown that would, Madame Brigitte assured her, transform her into a regal princess. “Yes, indeed,” Madame assured her. “It’s just the thing for a young lady of your regal height.”