Lord Harry's Folly (21 page)

Miss Bentworth said, “It’s true, he is too old for me. But if Sir Harry doesn’t wish to wed me, I fear that I shall have no other choice in the matter. My mama is strong-willed, you know. My papa quakes in his boots whenever she speaks. And there are my sisters, of course. All three of them. She’s even pushing me to marry before the Season begins, so she may save money, which is silly, since my father’s made of money.”

“Nonsense, Miss Bentworth, everyone has choices. You just must have some resolve.”

Miss Bentworth thought privately that the homely Miss Rolland could well afford to state her mind and have all the resolve in the world, for she couldn’t imagine any gentleman threatening to do away with himself if she didn’t wed him. How could Miss Rolland possibly understand?

Hetty misunderstood Miss Bentworth’s silence, and began to believe her spiritless. She knew she shouldn’t be meddling, but someone had to do something about these two. “As I said, Miss Bentworth, it just takes a bit of resolve, and a sound strategy. Listen and tell me what you think.”

Miss Bentworth obligingly bent her dark head close to the pea green cap. Hetty became so engrossed in weaving her plot and in gaining Miss Bentworth’s agreement, that she was unaware of Lord Oberlon’s arrival. Thus, when the sound of his deep rich voice came to her ears, not ten feet away from her, she jumped, the remainder of her words dead on her tongue.

Miss Bentworth was too involved in Miss Rolland’s daring plan to notice anything amiss. When Hetty grabbed her arm and pulled her into a corner, she believed merely that Miss Rolland had no wish to be overheard. It was some five minutes later when the orchestra struck up a lively country dance and two gentlemen were purposefully approaching her to secure the dance, that Miss Bentworth finally agreed. “You’re certain Lord Monteith will agree, Miss Rolland?” she asked yet again.

“Yes, I am. He’ll call on you tomorrow, Miss Bentworth. Remember, you mustn’t breathe a word of this to anyone.”

Hetty slipped even further into the corner, Miss Bentworth and her trial with Sir Harry for the moment forgotten, her eyes upon Lord Oberlon. He was laughing easily with Miss Caroline Langley. She glanced at a clock, saw that it was just after ten o’clock and realized with a sinking in the pit of her stomach that it would be quite rude for her to depart so early in the evening. She thought about a sudden, painful headache. Yes, that just might do it. So busy was she in planning her migraine that a light touch on her sleeve made her whirl about in consternation and stumble into a table.

“Did I frighten you, Miss Rolland?” Jason Cavander, quite eager to tease the spirited, outspoken young lady whose company the previous evening at the Ranleaghs’ masquerade ball he’d found stimulating, actually more than stimulating. He realized he couldn’t wait to see her again. But then she whipped about and his horrified eyes took in the hideous green cap, the squinting eyes behind wire spectacles, and the most ill-fitting gown he had ever seen in his life.

“You’re Miss Henrietta Rolland?” he asked slowly, praying that this daunting vision gaping stupidly at him was some errant relative of Lady Melberry.

Hetty, after her initial shock, was well aware of the effect of her appearance upon him. Without thought, she snapped with all the natural arrogance in her character, “Certainly I’m Henrietta Rolland, sir. Unfortunately or fortunately, depending upon one’s perceptions, I find I’m not acquainted with you. Nor do you look the sort of gentleman who would interest me in the least. Do feel free to take your leave.”

She instantly regretted her rudeness, for the marquess was staring at her, his dark eyes puzzled and one black brow lifted in confusion.

“I believe,” he said even more slowly, “yes, I’m quite certain we danced together at the Ranleaghs’ masquerade ball last evening, Miss Rolland. My aunt, Lady Melberry, pointed you out to me but a few moments ago.”

“Did we really dance, sir? Odd, but I don’t remember you at all.”

“Perhaps I’ve made a mistake,” he said, but he knew full well he hadn’t. Somehow, the wretched specimen before him simply didn’t appear to be what he thought she must be her parts just didn’t fit themselves logically together. That is, he thought, striving to make sense of the situation, everything fit, but her voice and words. The coldness, the quickness of wit, the arrogance decidedly something was quite wrong.

Hetty saw the myriad emotions on his face and knew she must stop taunting and insulting him. He’d found the masked Miss Henrietta Rolland to be entertaining the previous evening. She must become all that Miss Rolland was not. She placed a firm clamp on her tongue, squinted, and simpered.

“Oh la, sir. You’ve found me out.” She wished she had a fan so she could tap him playfully on his sleeve. “Pray don’t think Jack too naughty for telling you that I had taken you into a strong dislike.” She managed an obnoxious titter at the incredulous look on his face, silently begged her brother’s pardon, and simpered on, disgusting herself at her own performance, “Indeed, sir, or rather your grace, you are so very popular with the ladies, I believed my little joke the only way to dance with you. Surely such a spanking handsome fellow as yourself didn’t mind a little deception?”

Hetty wanted to laugh aloud at the look on Lord Oberlon’s face. Was she that bad? Something repellent and maybe even smelly? Then suddenly, his look again became puzzlement. He was certainly angry. He was ready to throttle Jack for making him appear the fool. He wanted more than anything to remove himself from as far away as he could from Jack’s wretchedly vulgar sister. But there was a nagging doubt in the back of his mind. Those damned parts again something still didn’t fit properly. Though his dislike was clear on his face, he managed to say calmly, “How very curious, Miss Rolland, that you seem so terribly in need of spectacles now. Yet, I recall last evening that you could read the spots off playing cards in the other room. Indeed, one would think that you had the vision of an eagle.”

Hetty produced a grating, high-pitched giggle. It made her own flesh crawl. “Ah, fie on you, your grace. It’s impossible to wear spectacles and a mask at the same time. Such a smart gentleman you are, I vow my heart is still fluttering. Jack did give me such a scold for our little ruse, but I told him you were ever such a wonderful dancer and so gallant and ever so naughty”

She got no further, for the marquess no longer cared about the parts fitting properly together. The look he gave her was so very cold and contemptuous that had he not spoken, she might not have been able to control her tongue.

“Congratulate your brother on his joke, ma’am. If you will excuse me, I wish to enjoy some fresh evening air.”

Hetty couldn’t prevent the deep chuckle that burst from her throat. To her consternation, the marquess stopped in his tracks, stood quietly for a moment, then continued on his way without looking back.

Well, you arrogant devil, she thought as the marquess was charmingly waylaid by Miss Caroline Langley, Miss Henrietta Rolland need no longer be concerned about your unwanted attentions. She’d handled him well. She wondered idly just how long it would be before Lord Oberlon discovered Lord Harry’s underhanded poaching with his mistress. To doubly ensure his wrath, she decided to take Melissande to the park again. Hetty just prayed that Melissande wouldn’t yet try to seduce Lord Harry into her bed. That, Hetty thought with a crooked grin, would prove most interesting.

For Lord Harry Monteith to pay the promised morning call to Miss Isabella Bentworth required a great deal of hurried activity and exquisite timing. Under no circumstances could Sir Archibald’s luncheon be postponed even a second past the noon hour, and Hetty’s presence at his table was nearly as requisite as the hour itself. Not quite, but nearly.

When Lord Harry sat with Miss Isabella in the company of her mama, a tall, beak-nosed lady, who tried her best to determine the exact degree of affluence among Lord Monteith’s relations, it lacked just five minutes until ten o’clock in the morning. Hetty smoothly parried Lady Bentworth’s none too subtle questions. She saw that Isabella was in an agony of embarrassment and prayed devoutly for Sir Harry’s sake that Isabella wouldn’t in the future fall into her mama’s more grating mannerisms. She also prayed that Isabella’s mama would live as far away from them as the land allowed.

All in all the visit achieved its purpose. Hetty had excellent hopes that Sir Harry would be jealous and furious at Lord Harry for his poaching, an excellent combination. What, she wondered, would Sir Harry do? The numbskull. The princely numbskull.

It lacked but a minute to noon when Hetty slipped into her seat at the dining table, her gown slightly askew and one slipper loose on her foot.

There wasn’t the familiar newspaper in Sir Archibald’s hands. He greeted her with the enthusiasm of a parent who hasn’t seen his offspring in at least a decade. “My dear Henrietta, how very charming you are looking, my child. Ah, yes, just the picture of your charming mama.”

While Hetty gazed at him in some surprise, he turned to Mrs. Miller. “Serve the soup now, if you please. Then leave us, for Henrietta and I have much to discuss.”

Hetty’s eyes flew to Mrs. Miller’s face, to seek enlightenment. The housekeeper gave an infinitesimal shrug and went about ladling the soup, beef soup, thank the lord. Hetty felt a nervous knot begin to grow in her stomach. Up until now, Sir Archibald had always stood as an unmovable rock amid the uncertainties that surrounded her. Had he somehow discovered that his daughter wasn’t always what she appeared to him? She forced herself to sip at her soup, and waited.

Upon Mrs. Miller’s departure from the dining room, Sir Archibald said with great good humor, “Well, my dear child, I must tell you that I visited a moment with Lady Melberry last evening, after you had left her party.”

Oh, God, Hetty thought, paling, she’d told him about the pea green gown and the spectacles.

“She told me, Henrietta, that you were quite the popular girl. No, not dancing and all that folderol, but rather intimate conversations, one after the other.”

She felt a touch of amusement, for obviously the good Lady Melberry had found herself in a situation that required diplomacy of the highest order. “I think Lady Melberry perhaps gives over to a bit of exaggeration, Father,” she said finally.

“Now, my dear child, I applaud your natural modesty, but facts are facts.”

Whatever was he talking about? Sir Archibald leaned over and took her hand into his. “Do you like the Marquess of Oberlon, my dear? Lady Melberry thought that you quite encouraged his grace in his attentions.”

Hetty dropped her spoon, sending the beef soup over the edge of the bowl onto the tablecloth. “The Marquess of Oberlon,” she repeated. She shook her head. No, it was ridiculous. “Listen, Father, I promise I didn’t encourage his grace. Really, I barely spoke to his grace. I barely even saw his grace. He spent most of his time very far across the room from me, Father. Besides, it doesn’t matter. I don’t even like him.”

To her horror, Sir Archibald merely smiled at her indulgently. “A coy little miss you are, Henrietta, just like your dear mother. Why, I remember that she swore up and down to her parents that she didn’t care for me at all. Protested in that ridiculous manner until the day we were married.”

I have sorely wronged you, Mother, Hetty thought, remembering Lady Beatrice as a rather cold, constantly complaining parent. You were far more perceptive than I had ever imagined.

“Yes,” Sir Archibald said, “it wouldn’t be such a bad alliance. Cavander is, after all, a Tory, even though he doesn’t often appear in the House of Lords. Well, perhaps he’s never appeared in the House of Lords. He’s young. There’s time to train him properly. There is John, too. He and Cavander have been friends since they were up at Oxford together. No, my dear child, if you wish the marquis for a husband, I won’t forbid it.” He pursed his lips a moment, caressing his chin in thought. “Ah, I’ve got it, my dear. You’re such a shy little thing. I’ll call upon the marquess, perhaps invite him to dinner. Give him my approval. Yes, that will do the trick.”

She was close to fainting and shrieking at the same time. She drew a deep breath. Calm, calm. “No, no, Father, please. Listen to me. His grace has no interest in me whatsoever. I promise. He dislikes me. He can’t stand me. He thinks I’m ugly and a sorry excuse for a female, truly, you mustn’t. Why, the only reason he spoke to me at all was because he and Jack are friends. He was just being polite, nothing more. Please, Father, I don’t want to know Lord Oberlon better. I don’t ever want to see him again.”

Hetty had always been rather proud of her stubborn streak, as Damien had called it, eyeing her several times like he wanted to smack her. But now she found herself silently cursing it, for her stubbornness came directly from Sir Archibald. She knew well enough that once his mind had grasped a certain course of action, there was no budging him. Indeed, it would take less effort to change the flow of the river Thames. She looked up, realizing that he hadn’t even paid her any attention. So much for her calm good sense approach.

Sir Archibald fixed Hetty with a patriarchal, benign smile. “You are such a good child, Henrietta. Trust me, my dear, to do what is best for you. Now, let us finish our luncheon, for I must meet with Lord Bedford, whom we have elected to whip Sir Edwin Barrington into shape for the upcoming election.”

“Which election, Father?” Anything, Hetty thought, to divert her father’s thoughts.

“The borough at Little Simpson. Up to this time, the wretched farmers have refused to listen to reason. But Sir Edwin is a popular man, though he hasn’t yet grasped the need to use whatever means necessary to achieve what is right. Political necessity is a concept that eludes him.”

“But if he isn’t the sort of political material you want, then why do you back him?”

Sir Archibald grinned indulgently at this errant bit of nonsense from his naive daughter. “Don’t worry your head about it, child. Sir Edwin will do well enough. I will teach him all he needs to know.”