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

While Hetty gazed at him in some surprise, he turned to Mrs. Miller. “Serve the soup now, if you please. Then leave us, for Henrietta and I have much to discuss.”

Hetty’s eyes flew to Mrs. Miller’s face, to seek enlightenment. The housekeeper gave an infinitesimal shrug and went about ladling the soup, beef soup, thank the lord. Hetty felt a nervous knot begin to grow in her stomach. Up until now, Sir Archibald had always stood as an unmovable rock amid the uncertainties that surrounded her. Had he somehow discovered that his daughter wasn’t always what she appeared to him? She forced herself to sip at her soup, and waited.

Upon Mrs. Miller’s departure from the dining room, Sir Archibald said with great good humor, “Well, my dear child, I must tell you that I visited a moment with Lady Melberry last evening, after you had left her party.”

Oh, God, Hetty thought, paling, she’d told him about the pea green gown and the spectacles.

“She told me, Henrietta, that you were quite the popular girl. No, not dancing and all that folderol, but rather intimate conversations, one after the other.”

She felt a touch of amusement, for obviously the good Lady Melberry had found herself in a situation that required diplomacy of the highest order. “I think Lady Melberry perhaps gives over to a bit of exaggeration, Father,” she said finally.

“Now, my dear child, I applaud your natural modesty, but facts are facts.”

Whatever was he talking about? Sir Archibald leaned over and took her hand into his. “Do you like the Marquess of Oberlon, my dear? Lady Melberry thought that you quite encouraged his grace in his attentions.”

Hetty dropped her spoon, sending the beef soup over the edge of the bowl onto the tablecloth. “The Marquess of Oberlon,” she repeated. She shook her head. No, it was ridiculous. “Listen, Father, I promise I didn’t encourage his grace. Really, I barely spoke to his grace. I barely even saw his grace. He spent most of his time very far across the room from me, Father. Besides, it doesn’t matter. I don’t even like him.”

To her horror, Sir Archibald merely smiled at her indulgently. “A coy little miss you are, Henrietta, just like your dear mother. Why, I remember that she swore up and down to her parents that she didn’t care for me at all. Protested in that ridiculous manner until the day we were married.”

I have sorely wronged you, Mother, Hetty thought, remembering Lady Beatrice as a rather cold, constantly complaining parent. You were far more perceptive than I had ever imagined.

“Yes,” Sir Archibald said, “it wouldn’t be such a bad alliance. Cavander is, after all, a Tory, even though he doesn’t often appear in the House of Lords. Well, perhaps he’s never appeared in the House of Lords. He’s young. There’s time to train him properly. There is John, too. He and Cavander have been friends since they were up at Oxford together. No, my dear child, if you wish the marquis for a husband, I won’t forbid it.” He pursed his lips a moment, caressing his chin in thought. “Ah, I’ve got it, my dear. You’re such a shy little thing. I’ll call upon the marquess, perhaps invite him to dinner. Give him my approval. Yes, that will do the trick.”

She was close to fainting and shrieking at the same time. She drew a deep breath. Calm, calm. “No, no, Father, please. Listen to me. His grace has no interest in me whatsoever. I promise. He dislikes me. He can’t stand me. He thinks I’m ugly and a sorry excuse for a female, truly, you mustn’t. Why, the only reason he spoke to me at all was because he and Jack are friends. He was just being polite, nothing more. Please, Father, I don’t want to know Lord Oberlon better. I don’t ever want to see him again.”

Hetty had always been rather proud of her stubborn streak, as Damien had called it, eyeing her several times like he wanted to smack her. But now she found herself silently cursing it, for her stubbornness came directly from Sir Archibald. She knew well enough that once his mind had grasped a certain course of action, there was no budging him. Indeed, it would take less effort to change the flow of the river Thames. She looked up, realizing that he hadn’t even paid her any attention. So much for her calm good sense approach.

Sir Archibald fixed Hetty with a patriarchal, benign smile. “You are such a good child, Henrietta. Trust me, my dear, to do what is best for you. Now, let us finish our luncheon, for I must meet with Lord Bedford, whom we have elected to whip Sir Edwin Barrington into shape for the upcoming election.”

“Which election, Father?” Anything, Hetty thought, to divert her father’s thoughts.

“The borough at Little Simpson. Up to this time, the wretched farmers have refused to listen to reason. But Sir Edwin is a popular man, though he hasn’t yet grasped the need to use whatever means necessary to achieve what is right. Political necessity is a concept that eludes him.”

“But if he isn’t the sort of political material you want, then why do you back him?”

Sir Archibald grinned indulgently at this errant bit of nonsense from his naive daughter. “Don’t worry your head about it, child. Sir Edwin will do well enough. I will teach him all he needs to know.”

Hetty thought fleetingly of Damien’s desire to enter the political arena. She wondered if he would have had an honored Tory member whip him into shape. Or would Sir Archibald have been his mentor? No, she couldn’t imagine it. According to Jack, Damien hadn’t even leaned toward Torydom, far from it.

Sir Archibald spoke no further of the marquess of Oberlon at lunch. Hetty sent a plea heavenward that once her sire got involved in his political activities in the afternoon, he would forget all