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

Lord Alvaney, Hetty, having heard the clock strike noon, rushed toward the breakfast room to greet Sir Archibald.

She kissed Sir Archibald lightly on his cheek and rested her hand on his shoulder until he reluctantly turned away from the Gazette and looked up at her.

How very handsome he is, she thought, admiring his still smooth forehead topped by thick silver hair, handsome and distinguished. His sparkling blue eyes must inspire trust and confidence. The fact that his eyes normally became markedly vague when he gazed upon her didn’t overly disturb her, for, she thought philosophically, she was of no concern to his electorate.

To Hetty’s surprise, Sir Archibald’s gaze did not, this time, become vague, nor did he seem preoccupied. He said exuberantly, thrusting aside his paper, “Hetty, my dear, we have got those damned Whigs by their radical collars this time. In two borough elections, two, mind you, our Tories ousted the incumbents by a great margin! What do you think of that?”

“It’s marvelous news, Father,” Hetty said, preparing herself for a complete account of the brilliant strategies executed by the Tories. To her further surprise, Sir Archibald showed no disposition to favor her with the details of the triumph. Instead, he said, “Come, child, do sit down, and let us have our lunch. There is much I have yet to do this afternoon. And,” he added in a conspiratorial manner that set her antenna aquiver, “I have a surprise for you.”

He’d never before in his life had a surprise for her.

Finally, convinced that he’d had a fit of some sort, she said, “Father, you have a surprise for me?”

“Surprise? Certainly, my dear child. Lady Melberry has invited you to attend a musical soiree this evening. Nothing fancy, of course, just some squawking Italian soprano to give you a headache. But I fancied it would be just the thing for you. I accepted her invitation on your behalf.”

Hetty went pale. She’d realized that sooner or later Miss Henrietta Rolland must make her entry into London society. She had optimistically hoped it would be much later, perhaps even after she had dealt with Lord Oberlon. If both Miss Henrietta Rolland and Lord Harry Monteith appeared at social gatherings, it wouldn’t be long before someone noticed the marked resemblance between them. “This evening, Father?”

Sir Archibald regarded his daughter over the top of his spoon. “I know, Henrietta, that you are still in mourning for your brother. But I didn’t think you would mind a small informal gathering. I told Lady Melberry that you were a quiet girl, with no racketty notions at all.” As his daughter didn’t say a single word, he continued in a stern voice, “You stay too much at home, Henrietta. You must not be concerned that you won’t conduct yourself as befits your station. I will, myself, conduct you to Melberry House. I cannot stay, of course, but no matter. Lady Melberry assured me that she would personally make sure that you are seen safely home.” Thus having dispatched any argument that in his view would be of concern, he returned, quite satisfied, to his lunch.

She didn’t suppose there was any hope for it. She said, “It’s kind of Lady Melberry, Father. I shall be delighted to attend her gathering, but just this once.”

She doubted Sir Archibald was listening to her, and she was right.

After dispatching a message to Pottson through Millie to inform Sir Harry and Mr. Scuddimore that she wouldn’t be joining them at Blair House for the evening, Hetty curled up in front of the fireplace in her bedchamber. She cupped her chin in her hand and tried to think of a way out of this current mess. Regardless of the fact that Lord Melberry was one of Sir Archibald’s cronies, this soiree was to be a social gathering, not a political one, and as such, the guests would undoubtedly include some of those gentlemen and ladies who Lord Harry Monteith had met over the past four months.

She was nearly at the groaning stage when she looked up to see Millie directing Doby, the footman, who was carrying two buckets of hot water for her bath. She sat in the copper tub for some time, thinking and thinking. “I don’t know what to do,” she said to Millie who was arranging towels. “I have nothing to wear, for all my old gowns haven’t grown as I have.” She stepped out of the tub and Millie handed her a towel.

Millie said matter-of-factly, “You tell me that Lord Harry is cool and calm in all circumstances. I fail to see why Miss Hetty cannot be the same.” She paused a moment and gazed down at the fluffy cluster of blond curls atop her mistress’s head. “You know, Miss Hetty, Lord Harry wears a disguise, even pomades down his hair. What would you say if all the high and mighty ladies and gentlemen did not proclaim Miss Henrietta Rolland to be a diamond of the first water?”

Just before eight o’clock that evening, Hetty grinned a final time at her image in the mirror, wanting very much to laugh aloud. She looked a fright. A large, lacy alexandrine cap of pale green covered her blond curls, leaving only the vaguest suggestion that the head beneath the cap was indeed endowed with hair. A pair of spectacles, borrowed from Cook, sat precariously on the bridge of her nose, the narrow prisms dimming the brilliant blue of her eyes. If the cap and spectacles weren’t enough to convince even the most tolerant that Miss Rolland had neither taste nor style, her ill-fitting gown of pea green just one sickening shade darker than the cap would certainly put the polish on the boots.

Hetty turned from the mirror and pulled the spectacles from her nose. “Since my eyesight is nearly as perfect as my health, I had best not don Cook’s glasses until after I leave Sir Archibald. I vow, Millie, that I shall be declared an ape leader before the night is