“Go on with you, Miss Hetty,” Pottson said, waving his own spoon at her.
Hetty was changing into Lord Harry’s clothes, when there came a knock on the bedchamber door. It was Pottson wiping his hands on his apron, looking like a man hunted. Behind him stood Millie.
“Oh, Pottson. You startled me out of my skin. What’s happened?” Hetty quickly pulled a robe about her shoulders. “Don’t tell me Sir John and Lady Louisa have returned to London? Oh no, that can’t be.”
“No, it’s not Sir John, thank the good Lord. The cat would have jumped out of the bag if they’d stayed any longer in London. No, it’s your father, Miss Hetty. He’s up and done it again. Lady Melberry has invited you to another party and Sir Archibald accepted on your behalf. He wanted to see you, Miss Hetty, but I told him you were resting. You must know that I had to tell him that you would be delighted to go, so as to keep him from suspecting you weren’t at home.”
“You did just the right thing, Millie. Drat Sir Archibald anyway. I doubt he even remembered that I asked him to consult me before he accepted any more invitations. Oh well, it’s done. Now, we must hurry. Quickly, Millie, fetch a pen and writing paper from Pottson. There is just enough time for him to pay a visit to Sir Harry and Mr. Scuddimore and cancel our evening together. Pottson, you’d better not eat all that stew by yourself.”
A scant two hours later, Miss Henrietta Rolland, the dowdy specimen who had made her debut but a week before, climbed into Sir Archibald’s carriage, pressing the green alexandrine cap against the top of her head to keep it from being whipped away by the harsh evening wind. As before, she didn’t balance the spectacles on her nose until she pounded the knocker at the Melberry town house. The Melberry butler again looked at her as if he prayed devoutly she’d disappear. She gave him a big swarmy smile and a bigger squint.
She quickly scanned the assorted ladies and gentlemen clustered in small groups in the drawing room. Her sense of wariness eased. She didn’t see Lord Oberlon. Miss Henrietta Rolland wished to avoid his grace to the same extent that Lord Harry Monteith wished to be thrown into his presence. She said all that was polite to Lady Melberry and quickly made good her escape to a far corner of the drawing room, there to observe, and hopefully, not to be observed by any of the other guests. Her gaze soon fell upon a lovely, dark-haired girl who was seated demurely beside her mama, looking for all the world as if she would yawn loudly from boredom at any moment. Hetty grinned. The vision of loveliness was none other than Miss Isabella Bentworth, the delight of Sir Harry Brandon’s heart. Lord Harry had met the young lady only briefly, and had exchanged only superficial civilities. Perhaps Miss Henrietta Rolland could make Miss Isabella’s acquaintance. She had a lively curiosity about the young lady who had captured Sir Harry’s devotion, though not as yet, a proposal of marriage.
As Hetty drew closer to Miss Bentworth, she began to believe Sir Harry mad. Isabella was indeed a beautiful girl, her deep brown eyes soft and warm. She looked kind as well as beautiful. Hetty wondered if Sir Harry deserved her. Her hair, glossy black with no hint of red, was swept high atop her head, with myriad small curls framing her ivory face. Hetty decided Sir Harry didn’t deserve Isabella.
Hetty was at the point of gaining Miss Bentworth’s wandering attention when she was drawn up suddenly by the grating voice of Miss Maude Langley.
“My dear Miss Rolland,” Maude said in that sticky sweet way of hers that set Hetty’s teeth on edge. “How very delightful to see you again. Do forgive me for not calling upon you, but I was invited to so many balls and routs that I scarce had time to purchase new gowns.”
Fat chance of that, Hetty thought, and took a deep breath, her only ambition to rid herself of the unwelcome Miss Maude. “I most readily forgive you, Miss Langley,” she said, raising her voice, thus forcing her vowels to be irritatingly nasal. “Where is your beautiful sister? Surely, the gentlemen will be howling soon if she doesn’t come.”