Lord Harry's Folly by Catherine Coulter (read this if .txt) 📕

because the generals were scurrying the other way. I shall soon have the first close look at our enemy, at least I pray I will.”

“I never knew what Master Damien meant when he said that,” Pottson said. “I still don’t, but that isn’t important. Now listen to me, you take care.” He wanted to say more, but he knew it wouldn’t do any good. Lord Harry was set on a course that was too late to be changed.

Lord Harry waved a negligent hand and sauntered from the room with a swagger of a young gentleman bent on an evening’s pleasure.

It wasn’t long after Lord Harry had entered the hired hackney with Sir Harry and Mr. Scuddimore that his gay mood dimmed, his thoughts returning to Lord Oberlon. He just wanted to see the man’s face. He knew he’d see the guilt in his eyes, he just knew it.

“Never seen you so sunk into silence before, Lord Harry,” Mr. Scuddimore said, eyeing his friend in the dim light. “What the devil ails you?”

Lord Harry brought his thoughts back from Lord Oberlon and said, “Not a thing, Scuddy. I was just thinking about the first time I came to London not above four months ago, you know. Unlike you and Harry here, I’m not yet jaded by all the marvels.”

Sir Harry Brandon tapped his cane on Lord Harry’s knee. “Knowing you, it’s probably female marvels that haven’t yet jaded you. But you were quiet and we don’t like it. It won’t do for you to get the reputation of being a dead bore. It’ll make people believe you think too much and that won’t ever do. You’d be out of favor in a fortnight.” He sat back against the soft swabs and took in his friend’s appearance, his blue eyes narrowing with distaste.

“Really, Lord Harry, you must allow us to go with you to Weston’s. Pottson’s a good valet, but it’s naught he can do if you don’t give him the proper-fitting clothes to work with. I am shocked that any of Weston’s fellows would make a coat that hangs off the shoulders in such a way. As for the seat of your trousers, there’s room in there for another small fellow’s butt.”

Mr. Scuddimore laughed aloud. Sir Harry was offended. “Bedamned to you, Scuddy. I just gave him some excellent advice. Why, Lord Harry here “

Mr. Scuddimore only laughed more, then hiccupped. Lord Harry thumped him hard between his shoulder blades. When he caught his breath, Scuddy said, “No offense, Harry, it’s just that I still can’t get used to you being plain Sir Harry and Harry being Lord Harry. It’s damned amusing.”

Sir Harry said in the tone of one instructing a slow, yet good-natured child, “Scuddy, I’ve told you several times how it must be. I’m a mere baronet and Lord Harry here is the son of a Scottish laird something outlandish like that. In any case, the both of us can’t be Harrys damned confusing that would be. Since Lord Harry is of higher rank, it’s only right that he be the lord and I simply a sir. I know you aren’t always strong in your mental workings, Scuddy, but I swear, if you bring this up one more time, I’ll take you out to the Hounslow Heath and put a bullet through your toe.”

“You won’t shoot me in the toe, Harry. I’m a better shot than you.”

“Ha, the devil you are. Why I”

“He’s right, Harry,” Lord Harry said with a wide grin, displaying even white teeth. “He is the better shot. Now about this Lord Harry and plain Sir Harry business, it is strange, but I think we’ve solved the problem rather neatly. After all, I didn’t want to be called Sir Buttris, after my father. Now, about that other fellow’s butt in my trousers, let me tell you that you can line up the possible candidates and I’ll pick one.”

Sir Harry grunted, then eyed Mr. Scuddimore with as much distaste as he had Lord Harry a few minutes before. “Lord, I hope my reputation doesn’t suffer being seen with the likes of both of you. Here is Lord Harry with baggy breeches and coat, and thinking himself so amusing in them, and you, Scuddy, you are simply too heavy to be sporting yellow knitted pantaloons. You’ve got to stop stuffing all those sweetmeats down your gullet.”

Lord Harry patted Sir Harry’s arm. “We will walk ten paces behind you, Harry, if you wish it. The way the women do in those Muslim countries, to show you our respect.”

Mr. Scuddimore said, “I don’t like the sound of that at all, Lord Harry. Imagine us behaving like women. The mere thought of being a female shrivels all my favorite manly parts. No, I don’t like the sound of it at all.”

Lord Harry turned away, grinning into the darkened carriage. “I’ll tell you what Scuddy and I will do, Harry. If we happen to see the Honorable Miss Isabella Bentworth at the play tonight, then we will pace back ten steps. You know, give you an opportunity to play the gallant, to gain the young lady’s attention.”

Sir Harry Brandon shifted uncomfortably against the carriage swabs. Although he was the first to proclaim the lovely Miss Isabella to be a diamond of the first water, he didn’t think that as a sophisticated man of the world his deeper feelings concerning the lady should be so obvious. He blanched at the thought of his friends even thinking of him proposing marriage to the young lady. “Oh, very well,” Sir Harry said. “The two of you loudmouths win. I won’t say another word about your wretchedly fitting clothes if you and Scuddy will keep mum about Miss Bentworth.”

“But why should we, Harry? You’re not planning to make the young lady an offer?”

“By God, I’m only twenty-four years old, far too young by half to be leg-shackled, even to Miss Bentworth.” He said a silent plea of forgiveness to Miss Isabella. If only she were still