by Mary Balogh
He readily availed himself of the invitation. "And do you need cheering, Henry?" he asked, looking at her closely.
"I have the headache and am feeling blue-deviled," she replied airily.
"I have never known you downhearted," he said quietly, serious suddenly and giving her all his attention.
She smiled. "It is merely a passing mood, sir. Tell me, how you enjoyed the opera last evening. I saw you in Lord Cadogan's box."
"Yes, I saw you too, Henry," he replied, "and would have waited on you during one of the intermissions if Marius had left the box. But I know he don't like me. However, I believe you are trying to turn the subject. Will you tell me what has happened to trouble you, my dear? You know me to be your friend, do you not?"
"You are very kind, Oliver, but it is a private matter, And not serious, I assure you."
"Is it Marius?" he asked. "I do not wish to pry, heaven knows, but I cannot believe him to be a suitable husband for one as young and full of life as you, Henry."
"You are being ridiculous," she said. "Of course it is not Marius. He is the best of husbands. But it is something I cannot tell him. Oh, may I tell you about it, Oliver? I think it will help me just to talk it over with someone else. And perhaps you may be able to advise me."
"Be assured that I shall do all in my power," he said, all solicitous concern, and he leaned over and eased the ribbons from her hands so that he was now driving the phaeton. Henry sat back and rested her hands in her lap.
"It is Giles again," she began, and she told him the whole story, as it had happened the previous day. When she had finished, there was silence for a while. She realized that Cranshawe had guided the horses into a path that was not as heavily used as the main one, which was always crowded with horses and vehicles at this hour of the day. She smiled at him in gratitude.
"Is that all?" he asked. "That is the whole matter?" She nodded. "But, my dear Henry, there is no problem at all. I shall give you the money. It is the merest trifle, I assure you.
"Oh, I could not possibly!" she cried. "No, Oliver, I could not be so beholden to you or to any man."
"Nonsense, my dear," he assured her. "We shall call it a loan, though I shall have no real desire to recover the money. You may repay it when and as you wish. It need not weigh upon your mind at all."
Henry hesitated. "It is uncommon generous of you, she said doubtfully, "but it does not seem right, Oliver."
"Henry," he said, drawing the horses to a halt and taking one of her hands in his free one, "I am your husband's cousin and his heir. I am family. And I have a personal devotion to you that I shall not embarrass you by relating now. Please, allow me to help you and your brother. I should consider it a signal honor."
Henry looked steadily into his eyes. "I will accept, Oliver, she said, "but only on condition that the money be considered a loan. I will not accept a gift from you."
"I accept a gift from you in being the recipient of your trust," he said softly, raising the hand he still held to his lips. He lifted,-the reins and started the horses forward again as they both became aware of a lone rider cantering toward them.
Eversleigh!
"Damn!" Cranshawe swore under his breath. "I shall wait on you tomorrow morning at eleven with the money," he said hurriedly to Henry.
"Ah, my love, I was fearful that you might have had some mishap when you did not return to the main path immediately," Eversleigh said amiably as his horse drew abreast of the phaeton. "Good day, Oliver," he added, nodding briefly in the direction of his heir. "Horses all lame today?"
"Not at all, Marius," Oliver replied hastily. "I considered the day particularly suited to exercise on foot."
"Ah, then it is uncommon civil of you, dear boy, to abandon your exercise in order to keep her Grace company," Eversleigh said, viewing his cousin through his quizzing glass.
"It is always a pleasure to converse with Henry," Cranshawe replied irritably. When the duke made no move either to lower his quizzing glass or to resume his own ride, his heir was forced to turn to Henry. "Thank you for taking me up, cousin," he said. "I must leave you now. I am meeting some friends in under an hour."
"Good day, Oliver," she replied gravely, and watched him jump down and walk away in the direction of the northern gate of the park. She returned her gaze to her husband, who had lowered his quizzing glass.
"Indeed, my love, I feel most vexed that I am not on foot today. I should enjoy riding up beside you," Eversleigh said languidly. "That is a most fetching bonnet. Is it new?"
"Yes, it is," she replied airily, "and since I must wear a bonnet, I determine to buy any that take my fancy."
"Quite so," he agreed. "I believe it was a milliner's bill that almost gave James an apoplexy this morning." Henry dimpled. "But I must say, my love, that this one was worth every penny. There was hardly a male head in the main avenue that did not turn in admiration, or a female one that did not turn in envy."
"You are funning me, Marius," she said, giggling. "But I did not see you.'
"No," he agreed dryly, "a mere husband has small chance of making his presence felt in such a crush of admirers."
"Absurd!" she said, laughing, the embarrassment of a few minutes before forgotten. "Are you riding my way, your Grace?"
"No, I am not," he replied. "I have a call that must be made before I return home. I shall see you later, my love."
"Good-bye,. Marius," she said, and gave her grays the signal to start.
Eversleigh, watching her go before turning his horse in the opposite direction, had a still, brooding look on his face.
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Henry contrived to be alone in the downstairs salon by eleven o'clock the next morning. It had not been easy. Marius had lingered in the office of his secretary until just half an hour before. Henry had considered all manner of ideas for persuading him to leave the house. Fortunately, none was necessary, though she was all but hopping up and down with vexation when he took what seemed a lingering farewell of her in her room.
"You did not ride this morning, my love? Or yesterday morning either?"
"No, I did not feel like the exercise," she replied.
"What, Henry, are you becoming too ladylike for such pursuits?" he asked, eyebrows raised.
"Pooh!" she replied scornfully. "What could be more ladylike than mincing along at a sober trot in a sidesaddle?"
"Ah, I forget," he said gently, "it is neck or nothing for you, is it not, my love?"
She smiled. "I must not keep you, Marius," she said, rising purposefully from the stool before her dressing-table mirror. "You must be anxious to be on your way."
"Must I?" he answered meekly. "I did wish to speak with you, Henry, but it can wait until later if you are in such a dreadful hurry."
"I must check the schoolroom," she declared firmly, and make sure that Oscar is securely in his cage again. I would not want him escaping anymore."
"No, indeed," he agreed. "I might have trouble finding a chef in England willing to work here if that worthy bird finds his way to the kitchen and asks them all what the stink is."
She giggled. "The poor man was furious, was he not? I must go up, Marius."
"Yes, I see you must," he replied. "And I see that I must be going. I shall talk with you later, my love."
Henry really did go up to the schoolroom, mainly to ensure that Miss Manford and the twins were safely occupied. They were, and Oscar, in disgrace, was reposing fairly quietly beneath his pink blanket.
Cranshawe arrived promptly. Henry was standing tensely, her back to the fireplace, when the butler announced him. He strode across the room to her, looking handsome and purposeful, she noted. He took her cold hand in his and raised it to his lips.
"Good morning, Henry," he greeted her, his charming smile muted by a warm sympathy. "I came as soon as I could, for I knew you would be anxious to be done with this business and to set your brother's mind at ease."
"You are very good,
Oliver," she said, turning quite pale. "I shall repay the money as soon as I " may. But I do not know how I shall ever repay, your kindness.
"Do not give it a moment's thought, my dear," he said with tender solicitation. "Here, take this packet and let us not mention the matter again." He removed a long package from inside his coat and handed it to her.
Henry took it with obvious embarrassment and reluctance.
"Now," he said, clasping his hands behind him and smiling much more dazzlingly at her, "may I beg the honor of a waltz with you at the Sefton ball tonight, Henry? It will be a feather in my cap to be seen with the loveliest lady there."
"I do not like it when you say silly things like that," she said roundly. "But of course I shall dance with you. The second waltz? Felix Hendricks has already asked me for the first."
"Then I must be contented with the second," he decided, bowing gracefully.
They talked on general matters for several more minutes, but Cranshawe, always sensitive to her feelings, realized that she was uneasy with the package of money still clasped in her hand, and soon took his leave.
"Until this evening," he said, smiling warmly into her eyes and raising her hand to his lips again.
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While Henry hastened upstairs to the drawing room to write a brief note to Giles, asking him to call on her during the afternoon, Oliver Cranshawe was on his way to Suzanne Broughton's house. She received him in her dressing room, where her maid was still coaxing her piled-up hair into numerous curls and ringlets.
"You choose strange hours in which to call, Oliver," she remonstrated as he was shown into the room. "Can't you wait until a more civilized time in the afternoon?"
"I thought you would wish to hear this news immediately, Suzanne, he replied, flashing her a wide smile in the mirror. "The butterfly has been netted, I believe."
Her eyes stilled on his reflected image. "Is that so?" she said. "Miriam, you may leave. That will be all for now." She waited until her maid had left the room and closed the door behind her before swiveling on the stool and facing her visitor. "Well, Oliver?"
He smiled and sank gracefully into a chair. "The little duchess is fortunate enough to have a brother who likes to gamble and who does not have the means with which to do it," he began.
She smiled slowly. "Fortunate for whom, Oliver? And you, out of the goodness of your heart, have prevented his ruin, I suppose?"
"Of course." He bowed. "How could I bear to see her
Grace, the freckle-nosed duchess, in distress? You know that I am all heart, Suzanne." He proceeded to tell her all that had transpired between Henry and him in the last day.
Her smile had broadened by the time he finished. "So now you have the silly little chit in your power! What do you mean to do with her, pray?"
He flashed his teeth at her. "It is not for you to know, Suzanne," he said, "but you can rest assured that I shall have some personal amusement while getting my revenge on Eversleigh."
I almost feel sorry for the girl," Suzanne commented with a trilling laugh.
"Do not," he said. "Believe me, Suzanne, I know how to pleasure a woman. In all likelihood, she will not even realize that she is being deliberately ruined. It would be double revenge, would it not, if the little Henrietta were to fall in love with me in earnest?" There was something cold, almost cruel in the smile with which he regarded Suzanne.
"You are the devil, Oliver!" his companion replied. "I do hope that Marius suffers-before he returns to me. Perhaps I shall reject him. That would be most satisfying." She turned her back to examine herself in the mirror.
Cranshawe rose to his feet. "It would be in your own interest, my dear, to be seen with Marius as often as possible in the near future, especially when his wife is visible."
She smiled. "Poison in the ear, Oliver?"
"You may depend upon it!" he assured her. "In fact, I have already begun."
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Henry ended up spending the whole afternoon with Giles. He was overjoyed when she handed him the money with which to pay off his debts, once he had ascertained to his own satisfaction that she had had no trouble raising the money and that she had not had to apply to Eversleigh for it. He swore to her that his gambling days were at an end, that he had finally learned his lesson. As a celebration, brother and sister decided on an excursion to Kew Gardens. They took the twins with them.
As a result, it was late in the day before Eversleigh held the promised meeting with his wife. She had dressed early for dinner and had come down to join him in the drawing room.
"Some ratafia, my love?" he asked, resting his own glass on the mantel and crossing to the sideboard.
"Ratafia, pooh!" she said. "That is for girls. I shall have some Madeira, please, Marius."
"Yes," he said dryly. "I always forget that it is the greatest insult to treat you like a girl, Henry." He handed her a glass of Madeira.
Henry sipped it and found herself admiring her husband's appearance. He was dressed for Lady Sefton's ball in black satin knee breeches and coat, silver waistcoat, and sparkling white linen, lace covering his hands to the knuckles, his neckcloth arranged in an elaborate shower of folds. A diamond pin in the neckcloth and the inevitable quizzing glass on its black riband were his only adornments. His dark hair was brushed forward into waves around his face. His blue eyes regarded her steadily from beneath lowered lids. Henry started and blushed. 'She had caught herself out in the act of wondering how her hands and breasts would feel against the linen if she were to step forward and push aside his coat. What an extraordinary thought!
"Will I pass muster, Henry?" he asked, his eyes taking on their amused gleam.
"Oh, assuredly so," she said. "You will be the handsomest man at the ball, as always, Marius."
His eyebrows rose. "Splendid!" he said: "I would respond in kind, my love, if I did not know that you would call me absurd or silly or-what was it that one time?-stupid!"
"Oh!" she retorted. "It is unkind of you to remember that. "
"Come and sit down, Henry," Eversleigh said, growing noticeably more serious and directing her to a sofa. He sat beside her. "I wish to talk to you."
"I perceive it is about my being with Oliver in the park yesterday," Henry said tightly, having decided to take the offensive.
He regarded her gravely. "Why have you chosen to disregard' my wishes, Henry?" he asked.
"I will not be ruled," she cried passionately. "I know that when I married you I became your property, Marius. I know that you have all the powers of a husband over me. But you cannot expect me to like it or to give in meekly to a situation of which I do not approve."
"Strong words, my love!" he said calmly. "Have I given you cause to consider me a tyrant? Do I curtail your freedom? Do I beat you?"
"No," she replied, her agitation by no means cooled. "You have been very good to me, except in this one thing. You asked something of me and gave me no reason except that it was your wish. And now you are bringing me to task because I have not obeyed. And I would guess that your next move will be to command me not to be sociable to Oliver and to threaten me with dire consequences if I continue to disobey. Well, I will not do it, Marius." She rose to her feet and glared defiantly down at him. "Oliver has been kind to me, and I like him, and there is nothing improper in our meetings. I shall have to take the consequences of going against your commands. But turn away from his friendship I will not." -
"Will you not, my love?" he asked softly. He sat and gazed steadily up at her for a long while until she sat down again, feeling rather foolish at having allowed her temper to flare. Eversleigh continued to sit silently for a few minutes. Finally, he took her hand in one of his and with his other hand stroked along each finger.
"It was, of course, wrong of me to require anything of you without giving a good reason, he said at last. "You must remember, my lov
e, that I am new in the role of husband. Since I lost my parents in a carriage accident when I was sixteen years of age, I have been accustomed to giving orders and to having them unquestioningly obeyed. And then I, er, bumped into you, or was it the other way around?".
Henry said nothing. She kept her eyes on his hand, which held hers, and on his slim, well-manicured fingers playing lightly with hers.
"Will you stay away from Oliver Cranshawe if I can convince you that it is for your own safety?" Eversleigh continued. Henry glanced up into his face, startled. "Believe me, I am not being melodramatic," he assured her.
"I cannot say until I hear what you have to say," Henry said. "I cannot think that anything you say will convince me. Oliver has proved kind to me."
"You are incurably honest, are you not, Henry?" Eversleigh said, turning her hand and clasping it in his. I see that I must tell you what I swore not to tell anyone, because I have no proof for my suspicions."
Henry looked inquiringly into his face.
"I have never told you anything of my family, have I, Henry?" he began.
"I assumed you had none," she replied.
"And neither have I-now," he said. "Oliver is my closest relative on my father's, side. He is the son of my father's sister. His parents died when he was a child. He spent most of his youthful years with us at Everglades. The three of us were very close Oliver, my brother, Stephen, and I."
"You have a brother, Marius?"
"Had, my love. We did everything together. We frequently had friendly arguments about the succession. Oliver pretended to be angry because he was third in line to the dukedom, behind me and Stephen-although his mother had been older than my father. At least, it seemed to be a joke, though after the untimely death of Mama and Papa and I succeeded to the title, I often had the uneasy feeling that Oliver was perhaps seriously bitter."
"But that is absurd," Henry said. "He seems not to mind at all."
Eversleigh took her empty glass, crossed to the sideboard, and poured them each a second drink. When he sat down again, it was in a chair a little removed from hers.
"I went to university and then spent several months of each year in London," he continued. "Finally I joined… a certain club. You would consider it absurd, my love, and you would be quite right. It was youthful folly. The only condition for membership was that each candidate swear to remain single for the rest of his life."