The Double Wager (12 page)

He grinned ruefully and seated himself in a chair close to the fireplace. “Term is not over,” he said. “I was sent down.”

Henry stared at him, openmouthed. “Giles! How simply awful!” she said. “Whatever did you do?”

“Nothing much,” he said. “A few of us slipped out of the dormitory after it was locked up, to play cards with a couple of visiting fellows in town. Old Boner got wind of it somehow and had a reception committee waiting for us when we returned.”

“You were gambling, Giles!” Henry accused, shocked.

“Nothing to signify,” he answered airily. “A fellow has to do something to entertain himself, Henry, believe me. We cannot be expected to
study
all the time.”

“But you know how Papa felt about cards, Giles.”

“Yes, and don’t you start in on me, Sis,” he said hastily, jumping to his feet and pacing the room. “I have had Peter prosing on ever since I came home yesterday. Life is not going to be very cheerful in that household, I can tell you.”

“But, Giles, what are you going to do?” Henry asked anxiously. “You know there is not enough money for you to live like an idle gentleman.”

“Don’t fret,” he assured her. “I was not expelled outright. I can go back again next term. But really, Henry, I would like to join a cavalry regiment.”

“Does Peter know that?” she asked.

“Oh, yes, but it will not do,” he said bitterly. “Nothing but the Church will suit Peter.”

Henry brightened. “Perhaps I can persuade Marius to buy you a commission,” she suggested, clapping her hands and also jumping to her feet. “He is incredibly generous, you know, Giles.”

“I am pleased for your sake, Henry,” he said. “I was not easy in my mind about your marrying him, y’know. I would not have encouraged that wager if I had thought there was any chance of your bringing him up to scratch. But, Henry, you are not to ask him for any favors on my behalf. Understand? It’s bad enough to know that he has taken on Phil and Penny and Manny and the animals. I would be mortally humiliated if I felt I was to be added to the list. I would feel like a worm, Sis. Promise me?”

Henry smiled. “If you insist,” she agreed. “I promise. But do come up to the schoolroom and let everyone see you. The twins will be ecstatic.” She linked her arm through his and led him up the stairway.

* * *

Henry had expected that there would be a certain constraint between her and her husband after their conversation in the library. But the matter appeared to be forgotten. It seemed that she had won the argument. She never did race Jet in the park again, but she did occasionally meet Oliver Cranshawe there and spend short spans of time with him. Sometimes, if it were afternoon and she were driving her phaeton, she took him up and drove with him for ten minutes or so. But she was always careful that their meetings were quite public and of short duration. She was not aware of Eversleigh’s spying on her, though on one occasion he rode past the phaeton. He merely doffed his hat and bowed to her. He took no special notice of Cranshawe at all.

It seemed that her husband's heir was at most of the social functions that she attended, a fact that did not strike her as odd in any way. There were numerous other people that she saw almost wherever she went. He usually contrived to spend a few minutes in Henry’s company, although, again, there was no suggestion of anything improper. Their meetings were very public. And since Henry had a whole host of admirers who followed her almost wherever she went, there seemed nothing particular about Cranshawe’s attentions. There was no gossip. Eversleigh did not refer to the matter again, though Henry noticed that he was usually visible whenever she was with his cousin. If he were in another room when Oliver joined her, a sixth sense must have brought him back into the room where they were.

Henry respected her husband. She was even beginning to feel proud to be known as the duchess of such a very handsome and distinguished man. She felt a heightened glow of awareness when in his presence, though she was largely unconscious of the fact. But she was not about to become his slave or his shadow. She liked Oliver Cranshawe and she was not going to spurn him just to cater to the arrogant whims of a man who could not give her a good reason for his demand. She quite deliberately cultivated the friendship.

Henry found herself drawn to Cranshawe’s charm and ease of manner. She instinctively relaxed in his company and consequently came to confide in him. She never discussed her husband or their strange relationship, but if she had other worries or concerns, she turned to him. It seemed perfectly natural on the evening after Giles' visit for her to tell Oliver all about it, although she had given only a very edited version to Eversleigh earlier in the day. They were seated in an alcove of a ballroom, in full view of the dancers and of the other guests.

Cranshawe covered her hand with his. “Henry, dear,” he said seriously, lowering his voice, though there seemed to be no one nearby intent on eavesdropping, “I have money and I have influence. And both are totally at your command. If there is anything I can do at any time to help you or your brother, I should be more than honored to do so. I can see that you might be frightened to turn to Marius in some circumstances, but never be afraid to come to me. I am your devoted servant.”

Henry withdrew her hand and looked uncertainly at her companion. “You are silly when you talk like that,” she said, “but I do thank you for your offer of help, Oliver. I do not foresee ever having to call on you, but it is good to know that you are my friend.”

Cranshawe always knew how far to carry his sentimental moods. He grinned now. “Allow me to fetch you some lemonade, Henry. Then I must relinquish you to poor Hendricks, who is looking most mournful over there. Do you see him leaning against that pillar? I believe he thinks I am going to steal his dance, the foolish puppy.”

“He is really a very sweet boy,” Henry said kindly. “But he should spend less time in writing poetry and more in gaining physical exercise. I always tell him so.”

As Cranshawe walked away, Henry smiled broadly and with genuine pleasure across the ballroom at her husband, whose eye she caught momentarily. He was talking with a very handsome golden-haired lady. A Mrs. Broughton, she believed. A minute later, when Cranshawe returned with her lemonade, he too remarked on the couple before leaving the field clear to the small group of admirers clustered around Henry.

“I see Marius is dancing,” he said conversationally, “and with Suzanne Broughton, too.” He managed to make it sound as if there were something almost significant about the fact that the duke was dancing with that particular lady.

Perhaps it was fortunate that Henry was not closer to the dancing pair. They were waltzing, and were thus enabled to carry on a sustained conversation.

“You have become quite the stranger, Marius,” Suzanne was saying archly.

He raised his eyebrows and looked down his nose at her. “Ah, but I cannot believe that you have been lonely, Suzanne,” he commented.

“I do not languish after any man,” she replied haughtily, “but I did believe we had a friendship, Marius.”

His eyes narrowed. “We both know what kind of a friendship we had, my dear girl,” he said.

“Yes, and it was good, was it not?” she said, smiling at him suggestively.

“Yes, it was good,” he agreed.

“It could be so again, Marius,” she continued. “I do not believe that little green girl can satisfy your appetites for much longer.”

He gazed at her with his half-closed eyes, but said nothing.

Suzanne became uncomfortable. She laughed. “You are not going to tell me, Marius, that she is able to give you all you need between the bed sheets,” she goaded.

He continued his silent scrutiny until her gaze shifted to the couples dancing around them. “You are quite right, of course, dear girl, ” he said, and she shot him a triumphant glance, “I am not going to tell you.”

“One of these days, Marius,” she said, a smile on her lips, fury in her low voice, “you are going to want my favors and come begging for them. And I shall laugh in your face.”

“That will be very pleasant for you, Suzanne,” he agreed meekly.

* * *

A few days later, Eversleigh arrived home to discover that his household was sadly changed from the peaceful, orderly days of his bachelorhood. It lacked little more than an hour until dinner; certainly it was well after the usual visiting time. Yet there was noise enough coming from the drawing room to suggest fifty callers. And over it all was the noise of Brutus barking as he stood outside the closed door of the upstairs room, demanding entrance.

Eversleigh, handing his hat and gloves to an impassive-faced footman, glanced up the stairs and looked back inquiringly at his butler.

“I believe her Grace is, er, discussing family matters with her brother, your Grace,” that poker-faced individual explained.

Eversleigh nodded, as if the explanation were quite sufficient to account for the commotion. He squared his shoulders and proceeded unhurriedly up the stairs.

“Lie down, Brutus, and take a rest,” he ordered languidly. The dog immediately responded by stretching out across the doorway, laying his head on his paws, gazing adoringly up at the duke, and thumping his tail on the carpeted floor.

“You do lack some common sense, don’t you, old boy?” the duke continued conversationally. “How am I supposed to enter the room without taking a flying leap over your back? That would not provide a dignified entrance for one of my rank, you know.”

Brutus panted with ecstasy at being so noticed by his idol.

When Eversleigh finally opened the door and entered the drawing room, quizzing glass in hand, the commotion instantly ceased. His glass swung over an irate-looking Sir Peter Tallant, an uncomfortable James Ridley, a weeping Miss Manford, a bright-eyed and defiant set of twins, and a flushed, indignant Henry.

The scene progressed like a well-rehearsed comedy show. The players were frozen for a few seconds as they all turned to view the newcomer. Then all burst to life at the same moment when they saw who it was.

Sir Peter looked smug. “Ah, Eversleigh,” he said, “you have returned in good time to help me convince these children of what is proper behavior in London.”

“We weren’t doing anything wrong,” Penelope shrieked.

“We had only gone forward to get a better view,” Philip cried.

“Marius, you won’t let him split them up and send Phil away, will you?” Henry implored, hurling herself across the room and clinging to her husband’s arm.

Miss Manford sniffed rather loudly against her handkerchief.

“Really, your Grace, I must take the blame for the whole episode,” Ridley said earnestly and gallantly.

Eversleigh covered his wife’s hand with his own as it rested on his arm and fixed a languid glance on his secretary. “That is extraordinarily noble of you, James,” he said. “But might I ask for what you are assuming the blame?”

“Your Grace ...”

“Marius ...”

Sniff.

“But we didn’t ...”

The duke held up a silencing hand. “I believe only one person in this room answers to the name of James,” he pointed out with calm common sense.

“Your Grace,” Ridley began, “Miss Manford had agreed to take Miss Penelope and Master Philip to the balloon ascent on Richmond Hill this afternoon. I agreed to accompany them, as this is one of my days off.”

“Quite so,” Eversleigh agreed, idly fondling Henry’s fingers beneath his hand.

“We took the gig, your Grace. But there was such a large crowd of people there that we could not hope to get close. Miss Manford urged her charges to stay close to the gig and not to wander away. We tried to persuade them that when the balloon became inflated and airborne, we would have a splendid view of it.”

“But we couldn’t see a thing!” Penelope shrieked. “Just bonnets and parasols and carriages and things.”

“I believe you,” her brother-in-law said unsympathetically. “James?”

“They wandered away, your Grace, and soon we lost them completely. Miss Manford and I searched the area until the last carriage had left and finally returned here in the desperate hope that they would have found their way home.”

Miss Manford sniffed again.

“We weren’t even lost,” Philip chimed in indignantly. “Peter ...”

“Thank you, dear boy,” the duke said. “Perhaps someone would tell me how you
did
get home. Tallant?”

“I was watching with my wife and her sister, Eversleigh,” Sir Peter began, glad of the renewed chance to air his grievance, “when what did I see but my own brother and sister, quite unchaperoned, making spectacles of themselves.”

Eversleigh’s brows rose in alarm. “I feel for you!” he said.

“Yes, indeed,” Sir Peter continued, “they had actually climbed under the cordon and were interfering with the balloon workers.”

“We were only asking ...” Penelope began, but she was quelled by a glance from her older brother.

“I had to face the indignity, Eversleigh, of crawling under the rope myself and, in full view of half the
ton,
gathering these two together and escorting them away. I brought them home immediately.”

“But, Marius, he did not give a thought to poor Manny and Mr. Ridley,” Henry complained, staring wide-eyed into her husband’s face.

Eversleigh squeezed her hand, but continued to look politely at his brother-in-law.

“I had given Miss Manford notice before she came here, Eversleigh,” Sir Peter stated, aggrieved. “Now perhaps you will see for yourself that she is totally incapable of controlling the twins and quite incompetent as a governess.”

“Perhaps I shall,” Eversleigh agreed soothingly.

“It is time Philip was sent away to Eton,” Sir Peter continued. “I shall begin to make arrangements immediately. Penelope must have a stricter governess, one who will train her to be a lady. You have only to look at Henrietta to see how incapable Miss Manford is of accomplishing that goal. I shall look to it, Eversleigh.”

Eversleigh’s fingers had tightened imperceptibly around Henry’s. His gaze, under the half-closed lids, sharpened. “Penny,” he said pleasantly, “perhaps you would help Miss Manford to her room? I believe a rest before dinner would be in order. James, you will not wish to waste what is left of your day off standing around here. You may take yourself off, dear boy. Phil, you may return those two volumes that are on the mantel to the library. Oh, and wait for me there, will you?”