by Mary Balogh
"Henry," Penelope yelled, hurling herself bodily at her sister, "Phil and I have adjoining rooms. We can go back and forth without having to go into the corridor. And my room is green, not that ghastly pink that I had at Peter's, and…"
"I say, Henry," Philip shouted, dancing around in the background, "there are some ripping horses in the stables. The groom let me brush one of them down this morning."
"Philip, Penelope, please let your sister come upstairs and sit down," Miss Manford was commanding in the background, without any visible effect. "She must be tired and Mrs. Dean has some tea all ready."
"Down, boy!" a calm voice commanded, and it seemed to be the only voice of which anyone took any notice. Brutus, who had tried to repeat the performance he had accomplished with James Ridley a few days before, was now lying quietly on the floor, tongue lolling out of his panting mouth, eyes raised adoringly to Eversleigh, who lad refused to be bowled over.
The duke turned to Miss Manford and extended his right hand. "Welcome to our home, ma'am," he said warmly. "My wife and I will try to see that you are happy here."
Miss Manford was in such a dither of embarrassment that it took her several moments to realize that she wwas meant to place her own hand in the one still extended to her. But it was obvious to the observers as she did shake hands with her employer, curtsying and apologizing as she did so, that the Duke of Eversleigh had made his second conquest of the afternoon.
"Now, Penny," he said easily, turning to his sister-in-law and, without apparent effort, herding the whole crowd up the staircase in the direction of the drawing room "should you like to see the parasol that Henry and I have brought you from Paris? I am vastly relieved to remember that it is not pink."
He stopped in his tracks when they entered the room and he found himself being greeted in the usual colorful language of the remaining member of the family. Eversleigh raised his quizzing glass and viewed Oscar haughtily.
"And as for you, sir," he said severely, "you will kindly keep a civil tongue in your head when ladies are present, or I shall have your mouth cleansed with soap."
"Gosh-a-gorry," said Oscar penitently, and he stood still in the middle of his cage and hung his head.
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Life quickly settled into some sort of pattern for the newly married pair. They tended not to see very much of each other during the daytime, except at the breakfast table. Eversleigh spent his days at his clubs, at the House of Lords, with his male friends at various sporting activities, or at home working alone or with his secretary. Henry, who was getting more used to the social life of the capital, was adapting to the change. She still rose earlier in the morning than most ladies of her class. She frequently rode in the park before it became too crowded, a groom always a short distance behind. In the afternoons she shopped, or visited, or traveled around London with the twins.
In the evenings Eversleigh usually dined at home. Sometimes afterward he would withdraw to one of his clubs. More often, he would escort his wife to some entertainment: the opera, a play, or a ball, perhaps.
On the second day after their return from France, a handsome high-perch phaeton was delivered to the duke's mansion, a wedding present for the duchess from her dear friends, the Raeburns.
"Ah," said Eversleigh, eyeing the conveyance through his quizzing glass, Henry at his side, "a very unusual wedding present, Henry."
"Yes, she said, eyes shining, "but is it not magnificent, Marius? I shall be able to drive myself in the park. It will be famous."
He eyed her out of the corner of his eye. "Perhaps, my love, I should have a groom run along ahead of you with a hand bell to warn all unsuspecting souls that you are Coming.
"Absurd!" She laughed. "Papa used to say I must have been born in the saddle."
"In the saddle maybe, but perched several feet above the horses' backs, Henry, with only the ribbons and a whip to control them?"
"Pooh!" she said. "I do not anticipate any problems." "For my peace of mind, Henry, allow me to drive with you for a while?"
"When you speak to me like that, Marius, I know I have no choice," she said practically, "so I might as well say yes."
"Quite so, my dear girl," he replied with a slight bow.
Henry was left feeling very glad that there had been no really awkward questions about the strangeness of the "wedding gift." At least Douglas had had the tact to say that the phaeton was a gift from his family.
On the next day, a pair of perfectly matched grays was delivered to the duke's stables. He was away from home when they arrived, but he was informed of the delivery as soon as he set foot inside the house, first by a hurtling pair of twins, who were down the stairs before the butler had time to close the door behind him, and then by his wife, who descended the staircase with only marginally more dignity.
"Marius!", she shrieked, startling his eyes wide open for a moment by rushing straight at him and throwing her arms around his neck. "You really. are too generous. Yesterday you pretended to be so cautious about my phaeton. I really thought you disapproved and did not want me't drive it. But today you surprised me with a pair of gray They are perfectly gorgeous, your Grace."
"Henry, my love, I think the hallway of our home is hardly the appropriate scene for such an impassioned embrace. Shall we discuss the matter in the drawing room?" Eversleigh asked, apparently unperturbed by the misunderstanding. "And, Phil, if you keep hopping around in that manner, dear boy, you will surely knock down one of those marble busts and Mrs. Dean will have your head, or mine."
Henry twined her arm through his as they ascended the staircase together. "The grays are perfect for my phaeton, Marius," she said. "I wanted to take them out this afternoon, but I remembered that you wish to be with me until you can be certain that I shall not break my neck. I shan't, you know, but it seemed only fair to wait after you had been so generous. Did you go out first thing this morning to buy them for me?"
"I have been trying to acquire them for several months,' Eversleigh answered evasively. I suppose our marriage finally speeded the matter on."
"Did you have to pay a great deal for them?" she asked, looking anxiously up into his face.
He looked back into her eyes, his own half-hidden behind his eyelids. "I begin to think that the cost was not too high at all," he answered smoothly.
The Duke of Eversleigh spent a few afternoons with his wife, sitting beside her as she drove her new phaeton, pulled by the grays. The conveyance was dangerous and daring for a woman; the grays were high-spirited and difficult animals. The combination should have been beyond Henry's skill and strength, but as she had predicted, she proved to be an excellent whip. She drove her dashing new vehicle with precision and apparent ease. Eversleigh's relaxed and almost-lazy posture beside her suggested that he was not at all surprised by his wife's skills. After a few days, she was to be seen driving in the park alone, with a groom up behind. Some members of the ton murmured about the amount of freedom the duke was allowing his young wife.
Although Eversleigh accompanied Henry to several eve-ning functions, he did not always dog her footsteps. Frequently at the theater he would leave their box during the intervals as soon as visitors came to call on her. He would wander into the hallway to converse with acquaintances, or enter other boxes to pay courtesy calls on their occupants. At balls he would frequently disappear into the card room after dancing once with his wife, leaving her to mingle with her growing number of friends.
And so Henry Devron, Duchess of Eversleigh, became something of the rage of London that Season. She was titled, rich, vivacious, and pretty in a thoroughly unfashionable way. Young men flocked to her. She was interesting to be with, with her refreshingly open manners and down-to-earth conversation. She knew nothing of feminine wiles and so, paradoxically, was extremely attractive to men; she was safely married and could be flirted with and dallied with without fear that an overbearing parent would demand a declaration fro
m the man concerned. Soon after her return from her wedding trip, Henry had acquired a fairly large court of followers.
She seemed totally oblivious of her own popularity, seeming not to realize that there was anything unusual about having at least half a dozen men calling each afternoon, vying for the honor of taking her driving or of accompanying her in her own vehicle, crowding her box whenever she appeared at the theater or opera house. Eversleigh seemed well aware, but appeared not the least annoyed or alarmed by the phenomenon. In fact, he left the field clear for her court, though he usually looked over the individual members languidly with his quizzing glass before taking himself away.
And so it happened that, a little more than a week after her return to London, Henry came face to face with Oliver Cranshawe at Lady Emery's ball one evening. She had met him at her wedding and recognized him immediately as her husband's heir.
"Your Grace," he said silkily, bowing over her hand and favoring her with the full force of his dazzling smile, "you look even more lovely and sparkling than you did on your wedding day."
"Goodness," she said, laughing, "what a foolish thing to say. I am by no means lovely, sir, and if I sparkle, it is only because I am wearing the Eversleigh diamonds tonight. "
He smiled again. "Cousin, I see you are not to be flattered," he said, gazing with smiling gray eyes into hers. "But, believe me, it is so refreshing to see a lady who neither simpers nor affects boredom. You do enjoy life, do you not?"
Henry found herself warming to his friendly, open personality and to his handsome, youthful presence. "It would be foolish to pretend boredom," she said with some scorn… "Surely soon one would be bored in good earnest "
He laughed. "You are delightful, your Grace. i cannol tell you how I envy my cousin. Will you dance?"
"Certainly,"she said. "But I must warn you that I have a nasty habit of treading all over my partner's feet."
He grinned. "They say to be forewarned is to be forearmed, your Grace," he said as he led her onto the floor to join a set that was forming.
"If we are cousins," she said, "I think you must call me Henry."
When the dance was over and Cranshawe led her to the sidelines, Henry was surprised to find Eversleigh standing there, looking relaxed and at his ease. He had disappeared into the card room an hour before.
"Ah, Oliver," he commented languidly, "enjoying the festivities, dear boy?"
"I have been making the acquaintance of your very charming wife, Marius," Cranshawe replied, smiling down at Henry.
"Quite so," Eversleigh said, putting his quizzing glass to his eye and surveying the other occupants of the room in a leisurely mariner. "I always consider it such a bore to feel duty-bound to converse and dance with family members. In fact, I make it a practice almost never to do so."
"But who would call dancing with Henry a duty?" Cranshawe replied, bowing to her and smiling warmly into her eyes again.
Eversleigh's glass swept in the direction of his heir. "I,, certainly do not, Oliver," he said, "but then her Grace is my wife."
Cranshawe stood uncomfortably where he was for a few moments. Then he bowed to Henry. "If you will excuse me, cousin," he said, "I see someone that I must talk to."
"Good night, Oliver," Henry said, smiling a little uncertainly at him.
Eversleigh lowered his glass and looked at his heir. "On your way so soon, dear boy?" he asked.
Cranshawe bowed again and walked away.
"Marius," Henry said, turning to him with indignation in her eyes, "why were you so rude to your cousin?"
"I? Rude?" he said, raising his eyebrows in surprise. "But, Henry, I pride myself on always displaying impeccable manners. Will you waltz, my love, before the five young men converging on this spot arrive to whisk you away from a mere husband?"
"Absurd!" she commented, and laid her hand on his proffered arm.
Chapter 6
Henry renewed her acquaintance with Oliver Cranshawe two mornings later in Hyde Park. She was out unfashionably early, riding Jet, who had been brought to London since her marriage. A groom was riding within hailing distance of her. She became aware of Cranshawe cantering up alongside while she was 'in the midst of resisting the temptation to take off her feathered riding hat so that she could feel the breeze in her hair.
"Good morning, cousin," Cranshawe called, flashing her a smile and sweeping off his hat.
."Oh, good morning, Oliver," Henry returned gaily. "Is it not a beautiful morning?"
"All the more so since I saw you," he said, sweeping admiring eyes over her trim figure clad in moss-green riding attire and over her powerful, gleaming black horse. "That is a splendid mount, if I may say so, your Grace."
"Yes, is he not?" she agreed. "But I thought it was decided that you are to call me Henry."
His face grew serious and he looked earnestly across at her. "I understood that your husband did not approve of such familiarity, ma'am," he said.
Henry hesitated. "He was in a disagreeable mood the other night, was he not?" she said. "Is there some quarrel between you and Marius, Oliver?"
"Perhaps you should ask your husband about that," he replied earnestly. "On my part, there is no cause for bad feeling at all. I try my best to be friendly to my cousin. But I realize that it must be difficult for him to know that I am his heir. I assure you that it matters not at all to me, but I do believe that Marius feels threatened by my existence.
Henry looked at him sharply. "That is surely nonsense," she said.
He shrugged. "You must judge for yourself, Henry. I certainly do not wish you to see your husband in a bad light. I should prefer that you judged me harshly." He smiled rather sadly into her eyes.
"I shall do no such thing," she replied firmly. "I always judge matters for myself, sir. But I do believe family feuds to be silly nonsense."
He bowed from the saddle. "Can I tempt you to test your horse against mine, Henry?" he asked, seeming to consider it wise to change the subject.
"Oh, do you mean a race?" she asked, eyes sparkling again.
"Shall we say to the southern gate and back on the count of three?" he suggested.
Henry had never been known to resist such a challenge. Soon the few spectators who were privileged (or unfortunate) enough to be in the park at that morning hour were treated to the spectacle of two horses galloping full tilt down the grassy avenue of the park, their riders, one male and one female, bent low over their necks. They were almost abreast of each other at the turn, but Henry won the race with a few lengths to spare.
"Ha!" she cried, laughing breathlessly as Cranshawe drew his mount to a halt beside hers. "You must now admit that Jet is the superior horse, Oliver."
"Not so, not so!" he protested, holding up one hand and displaying a wide array of very white teeth as he smiled back at her. "You see, I stopped to pick up your hat, which blew off back at the gate. Had I not played the gentleman, ma'am, I declare the outcome might have been very different."
"Pooh!" she replied. "I should not have stopped to rescue your hat, sir. You must pay the penalty for your foolishness."
"Henry," he said, suddenly serious again and bringing his horse closer to hers, "you are such marvelous company. Indeed, it was unkind of you to marry my cousin before you had given me the chance to try my suit."
Henry rapped him sharply on the knuckles with the handle of her whip and looked around until she saw her groom holding his horse at a discreet distance. "Now you are being foolish," she said. "I don't like it when people become silly and untruthful."
He smiled ruefully. "You will not believe in your own attractions, will you, cousin?" he said, still serious. "But may I be your friend, Henry? I think you may need one. I fear your husband can sometimes be a dry old stick."
"You talk a pile of nonsense," Henry replied matter-of-factly, "but of course we are friends. I must return home, Oliver. Jet will be overtired. Good morning, sir."
Late that same afternoon, when Henry was in the drawing room looking over some dre
ss patterns with Miss Manford, Eversleigh strolled in. Henry brightened. The activity had not been of her choosing and was not holding her interest to any great degree. He seated himself and conversed pleasantly with both women for several minutes. Then he turned to his wife.
"Will you come to the library, Henry?" he asked.
"Certainly," she replied, bouncing readily to her feet.
"Will you excuse us, ma'am?" Eversleigh asked, bowing in the direction of Miss Manford.
The governess blushed and stammered and fluttered her hands in an ecstasy of embarrassment at being so courteously noticed by her employer.
"Sit down, Henry," Eversleigh said when they were in the library, the door closed behind them. Henry sat and gazed inquiringly up at him.
Eversleigh moved to the fireplace and leaned one elbow on the mantel. He regarded his wife through half-closed eyelids. "Henry," he asked, "are you happier with your life in London than you were when I first met you?"
She looked at him in surprise. "I don't remember ever being unhappy," she replied, eyebrows knitting in puzzlement. "I have always thought the social life rather silly, but it can be amusing. Yes, Marius, I am happy."
"I have been pleased to see you become fashionable and to observe that you have acquired a circle of friends," he continued.
"Yes, I never lack for company," she agreed, not at all sure where this conversation was headed.
"Have I given you enough freedom?" he asked. "Have I ever made any unreasonable demands?"
"No, Marius," she said emphatically, "you are a most indulgent husband, I believe. Except when it comes to bonnets," she could not resist adding impishly.
"Quite so," he agreed, his eyes gleaming for a moment. Ile continued to look at her in silence for a while before continuing quietly. "I must now make one demand on you, my love. I do not wish you to associate with Oliver Cranshawe any more than strict courtesy demands."