“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.”
Julian shook his shaggy head with a laugh. “Not on your life, ol’ man.”
“June the first,” Harry repeated the date, as if reminding himself as well as his best man. “See you then, Jules.”
As soon as Harry was out of earshot, Henrietta rounded on Julian. “Why must you be such an ungodly influence on Harry? He’s shirked all of his duties since your return. Even if you have no inclination to walk the straight and narrow, you surely could make some small effort not to lead him astray.”
“Such censure, Hen?” Julian’s brown eyes twinkled. “As I recall, you were once the first to lead us all into mischief—and would mercilessly taunt any chap who failed to keep up with you.”
“We were children then, Julian! Back then we only risked scraped knees, or at worst case, a broken bone. As the head of the family, Harry has responsibilities. And he’s soon to be wed, for heaven’s sake!”
“Heaven or hell?” Julian quipped.
“Julian!”
“You forget I’ve met the chit, Hen. And for the life of me, I can’t fathom what the fool sees in her.”
“Penelope? You are not an admirer?” Henrietta remarked in surprise. “She’s the acknowledged beauty of all Shropshire.”
“Is she? I fail to discern why. What, pray tell, is your assessment of this paragon who is soon to become your sister-in-law?”
“Penelope has much to recommend her,” Henrietta defended. “She’s sweet and virtuous . . . and . . . um . . .”
Julian’s gaze met hers. “The truth, Hen?”
“The truth? She’s also a vapid, empty-headed ninnyhammer.”
He laughed. “I stand vindicated!”
“You are not! Penelope is precisely what Harry needs. She practically worships the ground my brother walks on. I have no doubt she’ll be the ideal wife and will never give him a moment’s grief.”
“Or a second’s peace,” Julian quipped.