If she could have boxed her father’s ears, she would have. Oh dear, another new set of problems. She would have infinitely preferred the squawking soprano, for it would have meant that all attention would be diverted away from her. As John coachman assisted her into the carriage, she muttered a quiet wish that Lady Melberry’s soiree be a very small one, with no persons of particular consequence in attendance. Or, at least, all politicians, for they would never demean themselves by chatting away social nonsense. She sighed, knowing this wouldn’t be the case at all.
Hetty alighted from the carriage at the Melberry townhouse with the air of a young lady readying for an evening’s pleasure. She waited a moment on the front steps until her father’s carriage had bowled away down the cobblestone street. Then she carefully pulled the spectacles from her reticule and balanced them at a most awkward angle on her nose.
She took a deep breath, affected a very noticeable squint, and soundly thwacked the knocker.
The Melberry butler, Higgins, a man of discriminating taste and the keenest of eyes, answered the summons. Although his nose quivered in distaste at the homely looking female on the front doorsteps, his tone was smoothly impassive.
“I say, yes, ma’am?”
An excellent beginning, Hetty thought, noticing the quivering nostrils. If I’ve offended the butler’s sensibilities, perhaps I shall pull through this evening without a second glance from anyone. “I’m Miss Henrietta Rolland,” she said, glorying in the high nasal twang. It sounded pleasingly obnoxious to her own ears.
Higgins blanched visibly at the pea green gown. It came to him suddenly that she must be the daughter of Sir Archibald, a most distinguished man and ardent political crony of Sir Mortimer’s. He was profoundly shocked. Such an ill-appearing offspring could scarce do credit to Sir Archibald’s political career. No wonder his lordship scarcely ever entertained at Grosvenor Square.
Chapter Nine
Lady Corinna Melberry gazed about her overflowing drawing room, and smiled with the contentment of a successful hostess. Sir Mortimer had obligingly removed himself and the majority of the more somberly clad, serious gentlemen of his political persuasion. The few who remained were clustered austerely apart from the gaily chattering ladies and gentlemen of the ton. In a few moments, when she was certain that most of her guests had arrived, she would signal to the orchestra to strike up a waltz. That fast German music would rout the politicians.
She was still smiling when she looked up to see Higgins standing with a pained expression on his face next to a tall, abominably gowned young lady. That wretched green cap and those awful spectacles. Good heavens, she thought with a start, whoever could that be? Perhaps she was at the wrong address. She planted a smile on her lips and moved gracefully forward.
“Miss Henrietta Rolland, my lady.”
Goodness, Lady Corinna thought, it was Sir Archibald’s daughter. After another glance at Henrietta, Lady Corinna felt the arousal of her motherly instincts. She remembered that Sir Archibald’s wife had died many years before, and she saw his poor daughter as a neglected, orphaned waif.
“Ah, my dear Henrietta, how very kind of you to come this evening. Do not tarry, child, I would introduce you to all my friends. You are new to London?” Before Hetty could form two words together, Lady Corinna had clasped her gloved hand tightly in hers and drawn her toward a knot of ladies and gentlemen.
Taken aback by her unwanted warm reception, Hetty finally managed to say, “No, ma’am, I’ve been in London many months. I’m in mourning for my brother.”
“Oh yes, how very dreadful for you.” Lady Corinna had forgotten about Sir Archibald’s handsome son who’d lost his life at Waterloo. Had this poor child been immured all these months with only the occasional company of her father to bolster her spirits? That in itself was an appalling thought, for Lady Corinna assumed that Sir Archibald, like Sir Mortimer, secreted a limitless array of parental shortcomings. With grace born of long dealings in society, she drew Hetty forward to meet a fat dowager, who was in fact, her very closest friend. “Eve, do allow me to present Miss Henrietta Rolland. She is Sir Archibald’s daughter, you know. We must make her welcome in her come-out, if you quite understand my meaning.”