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

“Jack dearest,” Louisa said, tugging on his sleeve, “you must remember that you’re just a wee bit larger than Hetty.”

But Hetty wasn’t the least bit afraid of Sir John’s attack. As he swung her above his head, she remembered times long ago when her giant of a brother would gleefully toss her about. “Oh, Jack,” she said between gasps of laughter, “you’re such a bully. I do love you so.”

He shook her once more, then lowered her to her feet. Slowly, he drew her against his chest.

Hetty snuggled her face against his shoulder and said, her voice breaking, “How I wish Damien were here. God, I miss him so much. Every day and I still miss him. I can’t bear it sometimes.” She burst into tears.

Sir John’s eyes met his wife’s above Hetty’s head. She nodded silently and slipped quietly from the breakfast room.

He gently stroked his sister’s soft fair curls, momentarily bereft of speech. It was several moments before he said softly, “I know, Hetty, I know. Damien was a part of me too. I miss laughing with him, hell, yelling at him. He was the finest of brothers.”

Hetty raised her tear-streaked face. “I’m sorry, Jack, for being so selfish. Of course you feel his death as strongly as I do.” She pulled herself suddenly from his arms and whirled about, pounding her fist upon the table. “It’s so damned unfair.”

She managed to gain control. “Forgive me again. I’ve upset you quite enough. Please, Jack, don’t worry about me. I go along quite well, really.”

Sir John sighed and patted her on the shoulder. “I suppose you do, Hetty. It’s just that Sir Archibald takes no notice of you and I do worry. So does Louisa. You’re so damned young.”

“Father is Father, Jack, and will never change. I am quite used to his ways, and, indeed, wish him to be no other way. He doesn’t interfere with my activities, you know.”

“Does that mean you still refuse to tell me why you didn’t wish to see Jason Cavander?”

For one long instant, Hetty wanted to pour out the truth to her brother, to tell him that Jason Cavander was no friend. She thought of the letter, safely locked in her dresser drawer, Elizabeth’s heartrending farewell to Damien. She shook her head, her tongue still. No, revenge was hers and Lord Harry’s. She realized that were she to tell him, and were he to believe her, the outcome could be disastrous. Jack was all the family she cared about, Sir Archibald being of little influence in her life. Were he to die in a duel, she would be alone. As would Louisa, little John, and the small unborn infant in Louisa’s womb. Yet, she couldn’t bring herself to lie outright to her brother.

“Please, Jack, don’t demand that I give you an answer. Suffice it to say that I loathe the Marquess of Oberlon. My reasons must remain my own.”

Sir John, his little sister’s defender, said, “He didn’t insult you, did he, Hetty?”

“No, he’s in no way offended Henrietta Rolland.”

“Good. It’s unimaginable, but still, I wish you’d talk to me, Hetty.”

“No, Jack, leave it be.”

He did then, saying as he took his leave of her, “Louisa wants to visit Richmond, a picnic, you know, and a visit to the maze. And tonight there is a masked ball at Ranleagh House. Lou told me she wants to recapture some of her wild youth before turning stout and matronly. You’re not promised to something tonight, are you? You will join us, won’t you, Hetty?”

A masked ball. She could act herself, without fear of discovery. “A masked ball, as in really masked?”

“Yes, you can cover yourself from toe to ear, if you like.”

“Ah, I should love that. I do wonder what Louisa’s going to wear.”

He watched her skip from the breakfast room, an eighteen-year-old girl. It had frightened him, that controlled anger, that too-old look on her face when she’d spoken of Jason Cavander. He remembered he’d also asked Jason the previous evening if he planned to attend. His grace’s reply had been quick, a wicked smile on his face. “I had planned to, Jack. Melissande would much enjoy herself. I don’t suppose your sister will be there? The one who dislikes me? The one I’ve never met?” Sir John had nodded, hopeful that Hetty would agree.

And now she had. Hopefully, he would discover this evening just why his little sister held one of his best friends in such dislike. He thought if Jason were to come close to Hetty, she might discover he wasn’t a bad sort after all. Since it was a masked ball, she could easily escape him if she really disliked him. As he strolled to Sir Archibald’s library to bid his sire a good morning, he grinned, wondering just how the devil his very experienced friend was going to react coming face to face with his sister.

While Sir John and Lady Louisa explored the maze at Richmond, Lord Harry trained his eyes on the circular targets set at twenty paces from the marking line at Manton’s and stroked the trigger. A shout went up from Sir Harry.

“Bravo, Lord Harry, yet another bull’s-eye. At twenty paces, too.”

Mr. Franks, the gruff, excellent attendant at Manton’s, added his praise. “An excellent marksman, ye be, my lord. Now, Sir Harry, ye see the way his lordship caresses the trigger, his eyes never leaving the target? Ye mustn’t be in a hurry, Sir Harry, no sir, never be in a hurry. Not with a lady, nor with a gun.”

Sir Harry grunted. “Well, I for one have had enough practice for one day. What say you, Lord Harry, I am off to Gentleman Jackson’s. You’ve never joined me, you know. Let us see if you’re as fine in the ring with your fists as you are at caressing triggers.”

Hetty handed the pistol to Mr. Franks before replying, “Harry, I’ve told you countless times that you could dash