The Redemption of Julian Price(4)

One London season had been more than enough for Henrietta. She’d passed the longest evening of her life at Almack’s, sipping tepid lemonade and conversing with dim-witted debutantes with whom she had nothing in common. She’d received a single offer to dance and had demonstrated as much grace as her favorite cow. No other invitations had ensued.

Henrietta accepted that she was no great beauty, but merely a nondescript placeholder in a line of beautiful and accomplished women—all of whom were now blissfully wed. She was the anomaly of the family, destined to become the sole spinster of three generations. But none of that mattered anymore. From this day forward, Henrietta Margaret Houghton would command her own destiny—at least to the extent her family would permit.

***

Dressed in her habit, Henrietta went in search of Julian. Failing to find either he or Harry at breakfast, she then sought them out in the library, fearing the worst. Last night, Julian had taken Harry out to the Powis Arms. She’d heard them stumbling back into the house close to dawn. To no surprise, she found them both slumped unconscious in the pair of wingback chairs in front of the hearth. Their cravats and waistcoats were discarded, and the floor was littered with a deck of playing cards and several empty bottles of port.

Her gaze lit with tenderness on Julian’s beard-shadowed face. His dark hair was too long, and he was in want of a shave. Coupled with the dark rings under his eyes, he looked far more highwayman or gaming hall habitué than war hero. How careless he’d become of both his appearance and his reputation since selling his commission. She’d hoped to ride with him, but by the look of things, it was doubtful he’d even be able to sit a horse. The fact that he drank overmuch and slept too late filled her with grave concern.

If possible, Harry looked even worse for wear. She approached her brother, nudging his shoulder with two fingers. “Harry, you must wake up!”

Other than an unintelligible oath, he remained dead to the world. Henrietta murmured an oath of her own, drew back her foot, and landed a sold kick to her brother’s shin.

“Beelzebub!” Harry started awake. He blinked twice before finding focus on her face. “Henrietta? Why the devil are you assaulting me?”

“I’m saving your skin,” she said. “Have you forgotten that you were to take Mama to Lady Brightmore’s this morning?”

“Damnation!” Harry groaned. “Why can’t they do all this bridal nonsense without me? Jules and I were to go and look at a new hunter today.”

“Come now, Harry,” she chided. “How will it look to Penelope if she finds out you placed the acquisition of a new horse above her? I daresay you would then have no wedding to grumble about.”

“Problem solved,” Julian chimed in with a shameless grin. “And a new hunter to boot.”

“Julian!” Henrietta admonished her brother’s cohort with a warning look.

“But what do I know of flowers, etiquette, or wedding breakfasts?” Harry whined.

“You need know nothing. And you need say nothing,” she advised. “Indeed, I strongly counsel you to withhold any opinions on anything whatsoever, but as the groom, you will be expected to smile and nod and display at least a modicum of interest in your forthcoming nuptials.”

“Pray forgive me, Jules,” Harry said. “The whole thing completely slipped my mind. Could you perhaps accompany me tomorrow? You know what a pitiful judge of horseflesh I am.”

“So sorry, ol’ chap,” Julian replied. “I have pressing business in London. I must return today.”

“Can it not wait a day or two?” Harry begged.

Julian flushed. “I fear not. My reputation is at stake . . or what little remains of it.”

“What do you mean?” Henrietta asked, at once anxious. What awaited him in London? Had he fallen in with bad company?

“It’s nothing I can’t manage,” Julian dismissed her concern with a wave of his hand.

“But you will return in time to stand up with me, won’t you?” Harry asked, oblivious to all but his own concerns.

“Of course,” Julian replied. “And I’ll be certain to bring a loaded pistol.”

“A pistol? Whatever for?” Harry asked.

“I shall use it as inducement should you experience cold feet before repeating your vows . . . and gift it to you afterward in the event you suffer remorse and wish to turn it upon yourself.” Julian gave Henrietta a conspiratorial wink.

“Jolly good!” Harry chuckled, oblivious to Julian’s mockery.

“What’s the date of the wedding?” Julian asked.

Harry returned a blank stare before looking to his sister.

“June the first,” Henrietta supplied. “I highly suggest you both mark it on your calendars.”

“I’ll be certain to return a few days early if you still wish to find a new hunter,” Julian said to Harry. “Or better yet, if you can effect an escape to London, we can go to Tatts for the horse. You are welcome to stay with me.”

“A last hurrah before taking on the leg shackles? Oh, I should like that very much!” Harry gushed.

“Enough talk of horses and hurrahs,” Henrietta said. “You’d best be off to make yourself presentable for Penelope.”

Harry ran a hand over his bristled jaw with a sheepish look. “You are right, Hen. Don’t know how I would ever manage without you.” He then heaved himself to his feet, swayed, and grasped the chair arm. Obviously, remnants of the empty bottles impaired his balance as well as his wits. He inclined his head to Julian. “I don’t suppose you’d care to join me? A fellow could use some male company.”