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

couldn’t, when she was saved by her brother Harry and that new friend of his came to visit. Which reminds me, Jason, what do you think of my new protégé? I saw to making him a member of White’s yesterday.”

“What protégé?”

“Monteith is his name. Harry Monteith. An interesting lad, soft spoken, yet older than his years. I think he’s certainly a good influence on Harry.”

Jason stared at him. “You don’t mean to tell me that you are responsible for that young whelp running free in the club? No, that isn’t possible. The lad I’m thinking of is slight of build, has fair coloring, and a damnably sharp tongue.”

“Yes, that sounds like Monteith. What’s going on here? Have you already met the lad?”

“Met him? By God, Julien, I was sorely tempted to beat the fellow to a pulp. The arrogant puppy called me not a gentleman but a nobleman. He did it on purpose, too, for what reason I have no idea. I asked him but he wouldn’t say a word.”

“You say you didn’t kill the lad?”

“Not this time, but I’ll tell you, Julien, if he doesn’t keep his tongue in his head, he isn’t long for this world. You believe him soft spoken and mature for his years? I think he’s singularly stupid. God, and the bravado and arrogance. If Filey gets him alone, it will be all over for him. If I hadn’t stopped Filey, the boy would be dead at this moment by Filey’s hand.”

“Since he’s offended you, my friend, I wonder how I could have seen him in such a different way. But the fact is that I did. Is it possible that you didn’t push him in some way to retaliate in such a manner? Come, tell me what happened.”

“I didn’t push him at all. Monteith was playing faro with Sir Robert when I chanced to overhear that ass, Filey, blatantly draw the boy. Monteith rounded on him” The marquess paused, memory forcing him to grin. “Damned fine job he did on Filey, I tell you. Said something to Filey about the pot calling the kettle black. Then, with all the poise in the world, he told Filey that he was mistaken in his metaphor a pot de chambre was what he had intended to say. As you can well imagine, Filey turned quite purple, then nasty. The villain was on the point of calling Monteith out, when, fool that I am, I stepped forward into the fray and drew Filey off. Instead of gratitude, Monteith turned on me. He made unflattering comparisons between me and Filey called me a bully, a predator, and the like.”

“He’s young. Could it be that your interference wounded his pride?”

“No, it wasn’t that,” the marquess said slowly. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “If I could think of some likely reason, I would believe that the lad hates me. His insults were deliberate and vicious. He was pushing me to violence, Julien, of that I am certain. It was as if Filey were in the way. It was me he wanted. It was me he wanted to fight, not Filey, not anyone else, just me. Why? I haven’t the foggiest notion, as I told you.”

“Do you think there’s a seduced sister somewhere in the background? Monteith has no Italian relations hanging about Florence, does he?”

The marquess laughed. “I did wonder about that, so stop your laughing at me.” He shook his head. “No, I can’t believe that. There was purpose and design to his attack. Oh, what the hell. No doubt I’ll discover enough if there’s a seduced sister somewhere or if the lad just disliked the cut of my coats. Now, Julien, when is the future earl of March to make his appearance into this world?”

“Late summer or early fall, Kate obligingly informs me. Now, I must go. I’ll leave you now to the mercy of your man of business. You know, Jason, you’re always welcome at Grosvenor Square?”

“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.”

Chapter Thirteen

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