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

thought, she snapped with all the natural arrogance in her character, “Certainly I’m Henrietta Rolland, sir. Unfortunately or fortunately, depending upon one’s perceptions, I find I’m not acquainted with you. Nor do you look the sort of gentleman who would interest me in the least. Do feel free to take your leave.”

She instantly regretted her rudeness, for the marquess was staring at her, his dark eyes puzzled and one black brow lifted in confusion.

“I believe,” he said even more slowly, “yes, I’m quite certain we danced together at the Ranleaghs’ masquerade ball last evening, Miss Rolland. My aunt, Lady Melberry, pointed you out to me but a few moments ago.”

“Did we really dance, sir? Odd, but I don’t remember you at all.”

“Perhaps I’ve made a mistake,” he said, but he knew full well he hadn’t. Somehow, the wretched specimen before him simply didn’t appear to be what he thought she must be her parts just didn’t fit themselves logically together. That is, he thought, striving to make sense of the situation, everything fit, but her voice and words. The coldness, the quickness of wit, the arrogance decidedly something was quite wrong.

Hetty saw the myriad emotions on his face and knew she must stop taunting and insulting him. He’d found the masked Miss Henrietta Rolland to be entertaining the previous evening. She must become all that Miss Rolland was not. She placed a firm clamp on her tongue, squinted, and simpered.

“Oh la, sir. You’ve found me out.” She wished she had a fan so she could tap him playfully on his sleeve. “Pray don’t think Jack too naughty for telling you that I had taken you into a strong dislike.” She managed an obnoxious titter at the incredulous look on his face, silently begged her brother’s pardon, and simpered on, disgusting herself at her own performance, “Indeed, sir, or rather your grace, you are so very popular with the ladies, I believed my little joke the only way to dance with you. Surely such a spanking handsome fellow as yourself didn’t mind a little deception?”

Hetty wanted to laugh aloud at the look on Lord Oberlon’s face. Was she that bad? Something repellent and maybe even smelly? Then suddenly, his look again became puzzlement. He was certainly angry. He was ready to throttle Jack for making him appear the fool. He wanted more than anything to remove himself from as far away as he could from Jack’s wretchedly vulgar sister. But there was a nagging doubt in the back of his mind. Those damned parts again something still didn’t fit properly. Though his dislike was clear on his face, he managed to say calmly, “How very curious, Miss Rolland, that you seem so terribly in need of spectacles now. Yet, I recall last evening that you could read the spots off playing cards in the other room. Indeed, one would think that you had the vision of an eagle.”

Hetty produced a grating, high-pitched giggle. It made her own flesh crawl. “Ah, fie on you, your grace. It’s impossible to wear spectacles and a mask at the same time. Such a smart gentleman you are, I vow my heart is still fluttering. Jack did give me such a scold for our little ruse, but I told him you were ever such a wonderful dancer and so gallant and ever so naughty”

She got no further, for the marquess no longer cared about the parts fitting properly together. The look he gave her was so very cold and contemptuous that had he not spoken, she might not have been able to control her tongue.

“Congratulate your brother on his joke, ma’am. If you will excuse me, I wish to enjoy some fresh evening air.”

Hetty couldn’t prevent the deep chuckle that burst from her throat. To her consternation, the marquess stopped in his tracks, stood quietly for a moment, then continued on his way without looking back.

Well, you arrogant devil, she thought as the marquess was charmingly waylaid by Miss Caroline Langley, Miss Henrietta Rolland need no longer be concerned about your unwanted attentions. She’d handled him well. She wondered idly just how long it would be before Lord Oberlon discovered Lord Harry’s underhanded poaching with his mistress. To doubly ensure his wrath, she decided to take Melissande to the park again. Hetty just prayed that Melissande wouldn’t yet try to seduce Lord Harry into her bed. That, Hetty thought with a crooked grin, would prove most interesting.

Chapter Twenty

For Lord Harry Monteith to pay the promised morning call to Miss Isabella Bentworth required a great deal of hurried activity and exquisite timing. Under no circumstances could Sir Archibald’s luncheon be postponed even a second past the noon hour, and Hetty’s presence at his table was nearly as requisite as the hour itself. Not quite, but nearly.

When Lord Harry sat with Miss Isabella in the company of her mama, a tall, beak-nosed lady, who tried her best to determine the exact degree of affluence among Lord Monteith’s relations, it lacked just five minutes until ten o’clock in the morning. Hetty smoothly parried Lady Bentworth’s none too subtle questions. She saw that Isabella was in an agony of embarrassment and prayed devoutly for Sir Harry’s sake that Isabella wouldn’t in the future fall into her mama’s more grating mannerisms. She also prayed that Isabella’s mama would live as far away from them as the land allowed.

All in all the visit achieved its purpose. Hetty had excellent hopes that Sir Harry would be jealous and furious at Lord Harry for his poaching, an excellent combination. What, she wondered, would Sir Harry do? The numbskull. The princely numbskull.

It lacked but a minute to noon when Hetty slipped into her seat at the dining table, her gown slightly askew and one slipper loose on her foot.

There wasn’t the familiar newspaper in Sir Archibald’s hands. He greeted her with the enthusiasm of a parent who hasn’t seen his offspring in at least a decade. “My dear Henrietta, how very charming you