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

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.”

“Do let me make it a present to you, my dear,” Lady Louisa said. “After all, I didn’t get you a birthday present.” She had, but she lied well to her sister-in-law, just hoping that Hetty had forgotten.

Hetty had forgotten. If only Lord Harry would complete his vendetta with the Marquess of Oberlon so that Henrietta Rolland could emerge into society as she really was. Only then could she wear the lovely gown.

When the ladies returned to Sir Archibald’s town house, they found Sir John in the drawing room, dressed in severe black evening clothes, his cravat meticulously arranged by his perfectionist valet, Planchard. To Lady Louisa’s fond eye, he presented a very handsome picture. Hetty appeared to agree with Lady Louisa, exclaiming, “Good heavens, Jack. What a handsome devil you are.”

He grinned engagingly down at her from his noble height. “Damned if you aren’t right, little one. I suppose that I haven’t a groat to my name with both of you gone for such a long time.”

“Two groats left,” Louisa said.

“I’ll even add a groat if you’re going to insult us,” Hetty said. “You only purchased me a belated birthday present.” Hetty pulled up short and looked at him, cocking her head to the side, for there was a certain smugness in his smile. “All right, Jack. What have you done? Come clean, else you won’t leave this drawing room alive.”

He flicked an invisible speck of something from his coat sleeve. “I, ah, well, my dear sister, I’m glad you’ve arrived home in time to make yourself beautiful. Er, even more beautiful, I should say.”

“Beautiful? Why? What’s this all about? Come clean, what the devil have you done, Jack?”

“If you must know, my dear, we will be having a guest for dinner this evening. Don’t worry, for I have already spoken to Mrs. Miller and she’s right now in a dither of cooking. I believe, Lou, that you will be quite pleased.”

“Who the devil is coming to dinner?” Hetty said, poking him in his massive chest with her finger. “Tell me now, and wipe that idiot grin off your face, or I’ll give you to Louisa for some more training and taming.”

“Very well, I’ve invited Jason to dinner.”

Hetty frowned, for she knew no gentleman named Jason. To her surprise, Louisa flung herself into her husband’s arms. “Oh how wonderful, Jack. It’s been an age since we’ve seen him. Is he quite recovered from his tragedy?”

“I don’t know, Lou. You’ll have to judge for yourself.” Sir John was aware of the irrepressible gleam of matchmaking in his wife’s eyes. He probably had the same gleam himself.

“Jason who?” Hetty said, tapping her foot.

Sir John looked mildly surprised, then shook his head. “I guess you wouldn’t have met him yet, Hetty. He only just returned to London. When he and I were close, you were still in the schoolroom. He’s Jason Cavander, the Marquess of Oberlon.”

“Lord Oberlon,” she repeated, her brain numbed, her voice flat as her chest was when she was fifteen. “Lord Oberlon,” she said again. “You know the marquess? Jack, how come you to know him?”

Louisa said, “Ah, you didn’t know that Jason Cavander and Jack were thick as thieves some years ago? They were both in the same college at Oxford.”

Hetty shook her head, couldn’t seem to take it in. But it was true. She said finally, “Did Lord Oberlon also know Damien back then?”

“Of course,” Sir John said. “Not as well as I did, of course, for they were separated by some five years. He promised me to keep an eye on Damien whenever he was in London, after Lou and I married and left for Herefordshire. He’s the best of fellows, poor chap.”

By God, she thought. How could Jack be so taken in? He believed that vile man to be his friend? Was he bloody blind? Had he no sense at all? Words tumbled out of her mouth, unchecked. “How dare you invite Lord Oberlon here? I’m mistress of this house, and you had no right to invite anyone without my leave, damn you.”

Louisa gasped.

“Well, what’s done is done. Since you, Jack, have invited that despicable man to this house, he can’t now be uninvited. But I tell you, Jack, I will have none of him. Do you hear me?” She drew to an abrupt halt, realizing how much she’d just blundered. Sir John and Lady Louisa, mouths agape, stared at her.

Sir John was the first to recover his tongue. “What the devil are you talking about,