Authors: Mary Balogh
“Come and sit down, Henry,” he said without looking up.
Henry felt a twinge of unease. His voice was not the voice of last night’s lover. She crossed the room and sat uncomfortably on the edge of the chair that was across the desk from him.
Eversleigh carefully put down the quill pen he was using, pushed together the pile of papers in front of him, and finally looked up at his wife. His eyes were hooded behind half-closed lids.
“I owe you an apology,” he said stiffly.
Henry was too shocked to reply. But her hands were suddenly cold. She clasped them together in her lap.
“I made you a promise on our wedding night,” Eversleigh continued, “and I broke that promise quite shamefully last night. I had been worried about your safety and wished to punish you, I suppose. I regret the lapse, ma’am, and assure you that it will not happen again.”
“But Marius, I didn’t ...” she began.
He held up an imperious hand to silence her. “I told you that you would be expected to perform the duties of a wife as soon as we retire to Kent for the summer,” Eversleigh continued. “I find, on reflection, that it is distasteful to force my attentions on an unwilling partner. I wish you to know, Henry, that you may retain my name and my protection for as long as you wish, but you owe me nothing in return. Until you say the word, I shall not touch you again.”
“Oh,” said Henry, leaping to her feet and putting her hands on her hips, “so I do not measure up to the standard set by Mrs. Broughton, do I?”
Eversleigh’s body became completely motionless; his eyes became icy. “Would you care to explain that remark, Henry?” he asked softly.
“You thought I did not know, did you not?” she said, eyes flashing. “You thought me naive. I am not a child, Marius. I know she is your mistress and has been for a long time. I have seen you with her on several occasions. She is very feminine, with that tiny waist and large bosom.”
“Who has told you all this, Henry?” he asked, still in the maddeningly calm and soft voice. “Cranshawe?”
“Oh, I do not need him to point out the obvious to me,” Henry said. “I know that, with my figure, I cannot compete.” She held her arms out and looked down on her own slim body. “You must have found me very disappointing last night.”
“Must I, my love?” he asked, the old gleam showing in his eyes for a moment.
“Yes. And do you know what?” she asked rhetorically. “I am glad! You know I hate to be touched. When you kiss me, I feel like rushing to the nearest washbasin and plunging in my face. And what you did to me last night was quite repulsive. I think I should run away if I felt that I would have to be subjected to that at your pleasure. Keep your Mrs. Broughton. Perhaps she will help keep your lecherous hands off me!”
Eversleigh put his palms on the desk and rose to his feet, keeping his eyes on her. He came around the desk. For one moment Henry thought he was coming to her and she did not know whether she would spit in his face or ignominiously grab his lapels and soak his neckcloth with her tears. But he walked across the room to pour himself a brandy. He stood silently, with his back to her, while he drank it.
“Am I dismissed, your Grace?” she asked tauntingly.
“No, Henry,” he replied, turning to face her. His expression was impassive, almost mocking. “I wished to ask you one more question, though now is perhaps not the best time.” He put his empty glass down on the table and walked over to the fireplace. He rested one elbow on the mantel and looked steadily across at her. She was still standing in front of the desk.
“Are you in any kind of trouble, Henry?” he asked.
“Whatever do you mean?” Henry said with an artificial little laugh.
He pondered. “I have a feeling that there is something you will not tell me,” he said carefully, “something that worries you.”
She laughed again. “What would worry me?” she asked.
He watched her steadily. “I wish you would tell me, if I may help you,” he said. “I know you feel bitter toward me this morning. You feel, and rightly so, that I have betrayed you. But believe me, Henry, when I tell you that I have the highest regard for you. And you may trust me, you know.”
Henry stared, her mind churning in confusion. Her brain was telling her that here was the perfect opportunity to unburden herself, to get herself out of a fix. Her heart was reminding her that her husband had used her the night before and found her wanting. He cared nothing that he was leaving her emotions bruised and raw this morning. She did not doubt that he would help her. But she would not be beholden to such a man. She would fight her own battles, as she always had. She lifted her chin and looked directly into his eyes.
“What nonsense you speak, Marius!” she said. “May I leave now, please, or it will be too late to ride.”
Eversleigh’s mouth relaxed into what for him passed for a smile, Henry supposed.
“Run along, my love,” he said. “I have taken enough of your time for one morning, it appears.”
Henry considered slamming the door behind her when she left, but decided that doing so would be a childish gesture. She closed it quietly and stood outside the library for a few moments, head and heart thumping. What had happened in the last few minutes had been so totally unexpected and so completely agonizing that she did not know quite how to cope at present.
The butler approached her before she moved away. He held a letter on a salver. “This was delivered a few minutes ago, your Grace,” he said deferentially. “I was to deliver it into your hands.”
“Thank you,” she replied absently, taking the letter and climbing the stairs wearily to her room. She sat down in front of the mirror and stared disconsolately at her own image. Strange! She looked the same as she had when she went down to breakfast—how long ago? Was it only little more than an hour ago that she had left this room so full of hope and happiness? She had not dreamed that her newfound love would be so effectively shattered in such a short time. How she hated him! He had spoken to her once about his “animal instincts.” And that was all they were. He must have been delighted the night before when she had started to cry and been so vulnerable. He had certainly been very quick to take advantage of the situation. And while she had held him and opened to him and called his name, because he was Marius and the man she loved, he had merely been using her as almost any man would use a woman who was so obviously available. But he certainly did not consider her worth a repeat performance. Henry ground her teeth in mortification. Would she never learn not to trust any man—at least not with her emotions?
She crushed into a wad the letter that she still held in her hand, then realized what she was doing. She smoothed it out again on top of the dressing table and broke the seal. The letter was from Oliver, she saw when she glanced down to the signature. She read:
My dear Henry,
I cannot tell you how deeply I regret my behavior of last evening. I can only plead the effects of overindulgence in wine. You must know that I hold you in deep regard. Surely I have proven my devotion to you. But I do not intend to remind you of any obligation.
Please meet me in the park this morning. I shall ride there until noon. I must speak with you. I should regret having to call at the house, as I know you would be distressed should Marius find me there.
I shall be awaiting the pleasure of your company.
Your obedient servant,
Oliver Cranshawe
Henry crumpled the paper again and threw it to the floor. The rat! Could he seriously believe that she would ever trust him again? After what he had said and done the night before? Was ever a girl so unlucky as to encounter two such unprincipled men on the same night? But she would have to go, Henry realized. The threat in the letter had not been so subtle. She knew that Oliver would come to the house if she refused to meet him elsewhere. She crossed reluctantly to a closet and pulled out her chocolate-brown riding habit and the matching hat with the gold and bronze plumes. At least she would look her best. She was not going to let Oliver Cranshawe know that he had her worried.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, Philip opened the door to Henry’s room without knocking.
“She probably left it in here somewhere,” he said over his shoulder.
“Unless she took it with her,” Penelope added from directly behind him.
“Oh, dear, this does not feel right,” Miss Manford wailed from the rear. “Whatever would we say if your sister unexpectedly returned or if his Grace appeared?”
“You know from what we told you this morning, Manny, that Henry needs help,” Philip explained patiently, “and that letter this morning looked suspicious. It did not come by the regular mail.”
“It s a good thing we were passing through the hall when it arrived,” Penelope added. “It is probably just an invitiation or a notice from a dressmaker,” said Miss Manford.
Brutus, meanwhile, galloped past the arguing trio and began to play with a ball of paper that was lying on the floor.
“Brutus, get away from there. That might be it,” yelled Penelope, grabbing his hindquarters and hauling him backward, in vain.
“Woof!” replied the dog, enjoying the game and returning to the paper again.
“Good dog! Give!” Philip ordered, but when Brutus showed no sign of obeying, he grabbed the dog’s muzzle and tried to force his jaws apart.
“Oh, bless my soul!” wailed Miss Manford. “We shall all be discovered.”
Brutus solved the problem by spotting a slipper across the room. He abandoned the paper for more attractive prey.
Penelope pounced on the letter, which was damp but intact, and smoothed it out on the floor.
Philip knelt beside her to read it. “He’s sorry for last night!” he cried indignantly. “After mauling Henry around as if she were a chambermaid.”
“Oh, dear,” said Miss Manford, “I don’t believe you should speak like that, dear boy.”
“He is as slippery as a snake,” Penelope said, “reminding her that she is in his debt and then saying that he does not wish to mention it.”
“Snakes aren’t slippery,” Philip added irrelevantly, and then jumped into action. “Come on,” he said, “we must follow her.”
“To the park?” Penelope asked, eyes shining.
“We must make sure that he does not abduct her,” Philip said.
“The park is a very public place, dear boy,” Miss Manford said. “I do not believe your sister will be in any danger there. But I do believe we should confide in his Grace.”
‘‘No!” Philip and Penelope chorused together.
“Then perhaps Sir Peter,” their governess suggested.
“Peter!” Philip said scornfully. “He would run straight to his Grace and advise him to beat Henry.”
“Mr. Ridley?” Miss Manford suggested hesitantly.
Neither twin answered immediately. “He is so loyal to the duke,” Penelope said finally. “He would probably tell. But if worse comes to worst, Manny, and we need a man, we will go to him. But now, let s go!”
The twins collided in the doorway, Miss Manford was almost as eager to leave a room she felt she had no business inside, and Brutus, seeing his audience departing, charged out behind them, a pink slipper still dangling from his mouth.
* * *
The Duke of Eversleigh was returning home from a short morning errand. He intended to change out of his riding clothes into an outfit more suitable for lunch at White s on St. James’s Street. As his horse was cantering through the park, he became aware of a commotion ahead of him. There seemed to be a great number of persons and a great deal of noise involved. As he drew closer—an interested spectator, but one who intended to keep his distance—he could see that someone was up in a tree, someone else on the ground below stretching up arms, someone lying in a mud puddle while a riderless horse danced skittishly around, someone holding with both hands the lead of a large and loudly barking dog, and someone else on horseback making no attempt to take command of the situation. These appeared to be the main players. There were several bystanders, all on foot, including a constable who was waving a club around but who appeared uncertain on whose head to bring it down.
It was the dog that gave away the identity of the group to the duke. He reined his horse to a walk as he drew closer, and approached the scene with all the nonchalance of one for whom such a scene is a daily occurrence.
“Down, Brutus, old fellow,” he commanded in a bored voice, and the huge canine, who had caused much of the commotion, according to the loud opinion of the bystanders, dropped on the spot and panted loudly, adoring eyes raised to its master. Miss Manford was released from the immediate danger of having her arms pulled from their sockets.
“Phil, are you planning to join the rest of us on
terra firma
some time this morning?” Eversleigh continued, raising his quizzing glass and gazing upward at his brother-in-law, who was clinging to a branch of a large oak tree.
“I’m not stuck, sir,” Philip hastened to assure Eversleigh. “But that cat is.” He pointed to a thin and scraggly little creature clinging pathetically to a branch. “I have to move carefully because the branch gets pretty thin out there. And, Pen, for the dozenth time, move away from there. If I fall, you won’t help me at all, but I will flatten you.”
“I’m here to catch the kitten,” Penelope explained indignantly.
“The little lad will fall for sure,” a buxom woman carrying a large, covered basket warned, “and all for a stray cat. Call ’im down, sir.”
Eversleigh ignored her. “Move back, Penny, until there is something to catch,” he advised. “Go ahead, Phil. The branch is strong enough.”
Most eyes were turned on the little drama. Eversleigh withdrew his; he did not feel that his brother-in-law was in any grave danger.
“Having a spot of trouble, Oliver?” he asked affably, swinging his glass in the direction of his cousin, who had already picked himself out of the mud, but who was gazing down at his thoroughly blackened cream buckskins with arms outstretched, not quite knowing how to clean himself up without soiling his hands. He rounded on the duke in fury.
“If you do not keep that dog confined to the house, and if you do not exercise greater control over these totally undisciplined brats,” he said, voice shaking, “I shall shoot it.”