The Double Wager

Chapter 11

Henry sat in her room later the same afternoon, looking flushed but triumphant. She was at a small escritoire, writing a letter. A small collection of crumpled sheets of paper surrounding her on the floor showed that the words of the letter were not coming easily. This time she seemed satisfied. She signed her name with a flourish, shook the paper in order to dry the ink, and reread what she had written.

Dear Mr. Cranshawe [she had written, having discarded the notion of calling him Oliver],

I am now able to repay my debt to you. I thank you with all my heart for having helped me out of a difficulty. You will find three thousand pounds enclosed in this package.

I remain your grateful friend,

Henrietta Devron

Yes, that was quite enough, she decided. She did not need to say more. There was just the correct combination of gratitude and reserve. She folded the letter, slid it into the package with the bank notes, and tied the bundle securely with ribbon. She rang the bell for Betty.

"Betty," she said when her maid entered the room a few minutes later, "which footman is most reliable to send on a secret and important errand?" Henry did not mince her words. She had learned from experience that Betty was devoted to her and could be trusted to keep her secrets.

Betty did not hesitate. "Robert, your Grace," she said.

"Good. Will you send him to me?" Henry directed.

Within ten minutes Robert had been sent to Oliver Cranshawe's residence with the package. The footman had strict instructions to deliver it into the hands of Cranshawe himself or, failing that, into the hands of his personal valet. He was not to wait for a reply.

Henry breathed a deep sigh of relief when the deed was finally done. What a delicious sense of freedom there was in being out of Oliver's clutches at last. He would probably he furious to see her slip through his fingers, she thought grimly. But he could hardly refuse the money. And with that debt repaid, she would no longer be obliged to jump whenever he snapped his fingers. In fact, she decided, she would not need even to be civil to the man. Marius would be pleased to see that their friendship had finally cooled. Not that she had any interest at all in pleasing her husband! Her hands curled into fists as she thought again about her abandonment to his lovemaking the night before and his cool rejection of the morning.

Henry summoned Betty again and had hot water brought to her room for a bath. She relaxed in the water while Betty laid out her turquoise satin and lace evening gown on the bed behind her. For the moment she felt relaxed. She could get ready for dinner and the opera almost with a light heart, though it would be difficult to spend a whole evening in close contact with Marius. But at least, she thought with a little smile of genuine amusement, she would have the satisfaction of knowing that he was not enjoying himself. Marius and music did not mix happily together.

Tomorrow she would think about her new problems, for, truth to tell, she had merely exchanged one nasty difficulty for another. She tried not to think about her dealings of earlier that afternoon. She had felt horror when the hackney cab had turned into narrow, filthy streets filled with all kinds of offensive rubbish and smells. Doorways and roadsides had been crowded with untidy and dirty-looking people and ragged children. When the carriage had stopped, she had not known what to do for a few moments. But, remembering that she was Henry Devron and had never been afraid of anything for long, she got resolutely out of the carriage with the driver's assistance, instructed him to wait for her, squared her shoulders, and bore down on a small group of women gossiping in a doorway.

They had gawked at the sight of her fine clothes (the gray cloak and brown bonnet had looked drab enough back on Curzon Street, but not here), but had directed her readily enough to the first-floor rooms of the money lender. She had given them each a shilling for their help and had been followed by openmouthed stares to the dark doorway of her destination.

Henry shuddered now in the bathtub remembering those dark, dirty stairs and the smiling, sinister little man who had opened the door at her knock and bowed her into a dingy room whose door he had proceeded to lock. The interview itself, though, had not proved as difficult as she had expected. The little man had been quite willing to lend her the money, especially when he knew who she was (she had decided not to lie, believing that he would more readily agree to do business with a duchess than he would with a Miss Nobody). Henry had eagerly signed the papers, not at all deterred by the interest rate, which she did not understand. The only nasty moment had come when the moneylender had demanded a pledge of security.

"But I have nothing!" she had protested. "You must trust me."

"But of course I trust you, your Grace," the little man had said, smiling all the while. "Such a charming lady must be honest. But you see, my dear, I do not work for myself. My superior is a hard man, a hard man."

"I do not believe you," Henry had declared hotly and none too wisely.

"Oh, but, dear me, it's a fact," the little man had said, rubbing his hands together, his grin never faltering. "But for such a pretty and grand lady, a mere token. What jewelry do you have, my dear?"

"None!" was Henry's prompt response. "And my purse is almost empty, sir. If I had wealth to leave as security, Would I be here borrowing money?"

"Oh, dear me, such a spirited young Jady," he had said. "You wear rings, my lady. One of them will serve the purpose. A mere token, you see."

Henry's eyes had widened. "You cannot have either," she said, glancing down at the gold wedding band on her left hand and the sapphire on her right. It was unthinkable to pledge the wedding ring. The other had belonged to her mother and had been left to Henry. Ever since her hands had grown large enough, Henry had worn it. She hardly ever removed it.

In the end she had pledged the sapphire ring. Now she felt sick looking down at her soapy hand and seeing it bare. For her own sake she hated to be without it. Perhaps more important for the present, she was afraid that Marius would miss it and ask her for an explanation. She might as well have pawned more of her jewels for the whole sum, she reflected gloomily.

But she shook off the gloom. She would think of some explanation to give Marius. And tonight she was going to celebrate her freedom from Oliver Cranshawe. Tomorrow she would worry about her new debts.

**********************************************************************************

Miss Manford, in the schoolroom, was showing unaccustomed firmness.

"No, my dears," she was saying, "we cannot handle this matter ourselves. The poor dear duchess must be in terrible trouble if she has resorted to appealing to a money lender. I have heard that they are dreadful people."

"But we can watch after her, Manny," Philip protested. "As long as one of us stays close, she can be in no danger. I stayed outside that house while Henry was inside. If she had not come out within a few minutes, I planned to stir up those people in the street and wail loudly that my sister had been kidnapped. I would have scared the of money leech."

I think not, dear boy," Miss Manford said. "Those people would have kept out of trouble, you may depend upon it. No, we must enlist the help of someone who can offer real assistance to dear Hen-I mean, to her Grace.",

"Well, she would never have gone there if she felt shr could have turned to the duke," said Penelope. "And I cannot understand why. He seems to me to be ever so kind. Brutus, will you stop licking Cleopatra all over? She will take a chill."

It was finally decided that two adults would be consulted. Miss Manford declared that she would talk to Mr. Ridley the next day; Philip and Penelope were to summon Giles and tell him the story. None of them was willing to seek help from Sir Peter Tallant.

**********************************************************************************

The Duke and Duchess of Eversleigh dined alone that evening and consequently were seated in their private box at the opera a good ten minutes before the performance began. Henry let her eyes rove over the pit, which was already crowded with noisy, exotic-looking dandies. It seemed obvious to her that very few of them had come out of a love of music. They were there to ogle the ladies in the boxes and to preen their male feathers before them. The occupants of the boxes seemed similarly inclined. They were there to see and to be seen. How many of them would remember more than the name of the opera once it was over?

Henry smiled to herself. The opera and its artiste would be the topics of polite conversation the next day. Everyone would be an expert critic. The smile faded when she met the stare of Oliver Cranshawe from across the way. He was sharing a box with Suzanne Broughton and two other couples, Henry noticed at a hasty glance. He smiled and bowed in her direction. Henry inclined her head stiffly in return. He did not at all look like a man who had just lost it war, she mused. She felt Marius beside her bow in the direction of a smiling Mrs. Broughton. Henry, giving no visible sign that she had even noticed the exchange, wished heartily that the woman were within reaching distance so that she could gouge the smile out of her beautiful face with her fingernails.

Eversleigh's hand reached out and took her right one in his. "I have not told you how lovely you look this evening, my love," he said, turning his attention to her. "It is a new gown, is it not?"

"Yes," she said, and for once was lost for words. The blood was hammering in her head as she tried to remove the ringless hand from his grasp without jerking it away and attracting undue attention.

"Where is your ring?" he asked, and Henry let her hand fall limp in his.

"What ring?" she asked, looking up at him and flushing, furious at her own response.

His lazy blue eves looked into hers and the lids dropped farther met their. "Your mother's sapphire, I mean, Henry," he said softly. "Where is it?"

"Oh, that ring!" she said with false brightness. "I took it off tonight. It did not match my outfit, you see."

She looked down into the pit again and smiled briefly at a gallant who had a quizzing glass directed her way. She could feel her husband's glance boring into her. "A sapphire ring does not suit the turquoise of your dress?" he said. "Henry, my love, you must be color-blind."

She did not reply.

"Have you lost it?" he persisted.

"Oh, no," she said with a trifling laugh that sounded false even to her own ears. I remember now. I took it to a jeweler's to have the setting checked. It has never been checked, you know, and I have been afraid that the stone might fall out. I should be dreadfully upset. you know, if I lost it. It is the only memento I have of Mama. I hate to be without it for a while, but it seemed-"

"Hush, my love," Eversleigh said gently, clasping more warmly the hand that he still held, "the orchestra is about to begin playing."

Henry felt her heart gradually slowing to a normal beat as she tried to concentrate on the overture that the orchestra was playing. But she was uncomfortably aware for some time that her husband was still looking at her.

The usual court of young men came to pay their respects to Henry during the first intermission. Eversleigh stayed with her until his cousin, Althea Lambert, with an escort, arrived to visit. Then he strolled away, leaving the young people to their own chatter.

Only a few minutes had passed before Oliver Cransh~we appeared in the box. Henry was aghast; she had not thought he would have the nerve. Perhaps he had not yet received her letter and the money, she thought.

"Althea," he drawled after bending low over Henry's hand and kissing it, "how delightful to see you. Er, I do believe Lady Melrose was looking for you a moment ago. Something about a rout, I believe?"

"Oh, that will be her Venetian breakfast," Althea said, brightening visibly. "Yes, indeed, she did suggest that I

be a hostess with her daughter. Come, Mr. Rawlings, let us go to her at once."

Mr. Rawlings dutifully led his charge away and Henry was momentarily alone with Cranshawe. The other three men in the box were deep in conversation about a horse race that was to be run the following afternoon.

"Did you receive my package, sir?" Henry asked frostily, deciding that it would be best to go on the attack.

"Yes, indeed, cousin," he said, giving her the full benefit of his most charming smile. "How delightful to know that you have come about so soon."

"Yes, well, I told you I should pay you back as soon as I was able," she said.

"I wonder how you managed quite so soon, though, Henry," he said. I hope you have not lost your trust in our friendship and put yourself in debt to someone else."

"That is none of your concern, sir," she said spiritedly. "All that concerns you is that you have recovered the full sum that you loaned to me."

His eyebrows rose in surprise. "Oh yes, almost," he said. "I shall not press for the remainder, of course, but then I did assure you that there was no haste for you to repay the principal."

"The remainder?" Henry asked faintly.

He looked puzzled. "But I have lost money while the three thousand was in your possession," he explained. A must, of course, recover the interest. But I do not wish you to worry your pretty little head over it, Henry. There is no hurry at all. In fact, I should be quite willing to take the loss if you would care to repay me in, er, some other way.

"What do you mean?" she whispered.

He smiled directly into her eyes as he answered. "A night with you, Henry."

Henry's mouth dropped open. "Where?" she asked naively.

The smile broadened. "In bed, obviously, my dear."

Henry was saved from the ignominy of being seen to jump to her feet and smack the face of Mr. Cranshawe in that appallingly public setting. As she was about to respond to the impulse, she was aware of Eversleigh stepping back into the box. His eyes found her face immediately and took in its expression. His eyelids drooped over his eyes as he strolled forward.

"Ah, Oliver, dear boy," he said languidly, "you are becoming quite the stranger these days. It seems quite a while since you invited yourself to breakfast last."

"I have the distinct impression that I was not welcome the last time I came, Marius," said Cranshawe, an edge to his voice.

Eversleigh raised his quizzing glass and surveyed his heir unhurriedly through it. "Indeed?" he said. "What can have given you that impression? Ridley was there, was he not? I cannot remember his being rude to you. There was the matter of newspaper being left behind, though, was there not, dear fellow? It is still there for you to claim." He let the glass fall to his chest again.

"You are too kind, cousin," Cranshawe said through his teeth.

"Not at all, not at all, dear fellow," said Eversleigh. "You must give me the honor of your company as well as my wife, you know. In fact, dear boy, I must insist that you announce your visits so that I may not be deprived of the pleasure."

"The second act is about to begin," Cranshawe mumbled, getting to his feet and bowing stiffly. "Your Grace?"~

Henry nodded, but she did not look up. The ether 0 three gentlemen also crowded around to make their farewells.

As Henry turned her chair to face the stage again, Eversleigh took her hand and laid it on his sleeve.

"I wish to leave," she said, eyes riveted to the stage. "Please take me home, Marius."

"No, my love," he replied gently. "We must be seen to sit here in amicable agreement."

His words hummed in Henry's mind as the music and singing washed over her. What had he meant? Was there already talk about her and Oliver Cranshawe? Was Marius trying to avert it?

****

The Duke of Eversleigh walked into his secretary's office the next morning before luncheon. He was still clad in riding clothes.

"Ah, James," he said, "bow predictable you are, dear fellow. One can always depend upon finding you here."

"Well, you do pay me to work here during the daytime, your Grace," Ridley replied patiently.

"Quite so, dear boy," Eversleigh agreed, "though I seem to remember giving you an assignment yesterday that should have had you up and abroad."

"I have already done my best on that mission," his secretary replied, "and devilish difficult it was too, sir, if you will excuse me for saying so."

"Oh, surely, James," the duke replied, waving a hand airily in his direction. "And what did you discover?"

"I can find no trace of any debt incurred by her Grace that has not been sent here," Ridley said.

Eversleigh regarded him thoughtfully. Hmm, he said. "Are you sure your information is complete, James?"

Ridley shrugged. "I talked to the persons most likely to know about any gambling debts," he said.

"My wife is missing a ring that she almost never removes from her finger," Eversleigh said almost to himself, strolling over to take up a stand in his favorite spot, one elbow propping him against a bookshelf.

"Pawned perhaps, your Grace?"

"I think not," his employer replied. "I have visited all the most likely jewelers this morning, and none of them knows of it. No, James, I believe it must have been pledged for a large sum."

"Not a moneylender, your Grace?"

"I hope not, dear boy. Perhaps my heir has it. He has her in his power, I am sure."

"You think he has lent her money?" asked Ridley.

"I fear so," the duke replied. "She is frightened, at least, and my wife does not scare easily. I wish I knew why she needed money."

"I-I think I might have the answer," Ridley said, shifting uneasily in his chair.

Eversleigh looked penetratingly at him. "Well, out with it, dear fellow!" he said.

"I discovered that her Grace's brother, Mr. Giles Tallant, had quite large gambling debts a while ago."

"How large?" the duke asked.

"In the region of three thousand pounds, I believe, sir.

Eversleigh whistled. "Rash puppy!" he said. "I doubt if his brother allows him near enough to pay that. And have these debts been paid, James?"

"Yes, your Grace," Ridley replied, "in full."

"Ah," Eversleigh commented, straightening up and tapping his boots with his riding crop. "I believe I shall see if my brother-in-law would like to share luncheon with me at White's. Do take a break soon, James. Too much work cannot be good for the health."

"My midday break is due to begin in a half-hour," Ridley explained to his employer's disappearing back.

****

Henry spent the morning in her room, breaking with her usual routine of riding early. She felt very close to despair. It seemed that everything was going wrong around her. The new debt to the moneylender looked like an insurmountable problem now in the morning light. Henry did some calculations in her head, and then on paper to make sure that she had not made an error. If she saved most of her allowance each month, she would be able to repay little more than the interest on her loan. There was no way she would ever be free of the whole debt. That meant that she would never recover her ring. Its absence would be a great loss to her. More important, she did not know how she would answer Marius if he asked about it again, and he surely would. Soon he would demand to know the name of the jeweler to whom she had taken the ring to be checked. And then she would be forced into more lies.

She had, in fact, got herself into a terrible mess, and all for nothing, it seemed. Oliver was still insisting that she owed him interest on his loan. He had not said, and she had not asked, how much it was. But she had the distinct impression that the amount was limitless. Even if she went out now and pawned her most precious piece of jewelry and sent the money to Cranshawe, he would claim that it was not enough. And how could she argue? There had been no written agreement.

Henry thought about his words of the night before and clenched her fists. How dare he so openly proposition her? He had looked her right in the eye as he spoke, too, and smiled that charming smile that had so disarmed her when she first met him. Anyone looking across to their box would have assumed that he was paying her some lavish compliment. The rat! Henry considered playing along with his game. What if she agreed to meet him in some private place and set up some devious plan of revenge? She considered how satisfactory it would be to go at him with her fists, to break that handsome, aquiline nose and smash forever that flawless smile. She sighed. How provoking it was to be a w man, to know that there were limits to her strength. She, considered using a riding crop as a weapon, but that was too risky. Doubtless the scoundrel was strong enough to wrest it from her grasp. No, the whole scheme was too risky, she decided. Unless she could be sure of overpowering him, she would be in grave danger once he achieved the upper hand. He was already openly set upon ruining not only her reputation, but also her person. She shuddered to think what added indignities he would heap on her if he were also enraged.

What was she to do, then, when she did hear next from Cranshawe? She could not pay him and she would not meet him. The only other alternative seemed to be to make a clean breast of the whole thing to Marius. She found it hard to understand now why she had not just gone to him at the start, or at least as soon as she began to have doubts about Oliver's integrity. It would have been so easy then, and surely she could have thought of some way of keeping Giles' name out of it. However, she had not gone to her husband, and now it was surely impossible to do so. At best, Marius would consider her foolish and stubborn, and he would be right. But he could never respect or love her. At worst, he would refuse to believe that she had not been more involved with Oliver than she had been. He was already suspicious. How could she ever convince him that she had never considered his cousin as more than a casual friend? No, this was a predicament that she would have to get herself out of, though there did not seem to be any way.

But why did she care what Marius thought of her? He did not care about her. He had married her for some reason that she could not comprehend. But obviously all his interest was in that overblown dozy, Mrs. Broughton. Even last night they had not been able to keep their eyes off each other. Henry supposed that he spent much of his days and the evenings when he was not with her at the home of his mistress. Her fingernails dug painfully into her palms as she imagined him doing with the delectable Suzanne what he had done with her two nights before.

Henry could not escape the truth. She loved Marius quite hopelessly. Finally, after believing that no man would ever be worthy of her entire trust and respect, she seemed to have found such a man. And, in addition, he was a man who could make her pulses race and her knees and stomach feel like jelly. Even now Henry yearned to run to him, to curl into his arms and beg him to take her burdens on his own broad and capable shoulders. And one part of her mind was convinced that he would not turn her away, that she could trust him. But how could she believe that when he had turned her away the morning before at a time when she had been glowing with love and vulnerability, and when he kept a mistress with whom he had been involved long before he had met her? Oh, it was all very confusing.

On impulse, Henry leapt to her feet and rang for Betty. She was going to go downstairs for luncheon and then she was going to order her phaeton and grays brought around so that she could go visiting and later drive in the park. She was Henry Devron, and nobody-not Marius, not Oliver-was going to keep her cowering in her bedroom!

****

Giles Tallant was sitting in the reading room at White's when his brother-in-law strolled in. Although he held a paper in his hands and had his eyes directed at it, it would have been obvious to anyone who cared to observe that he was not, in fact, reading. Truth to tell, his mind was still reeling from what his brother had told him just a few hours before.

Philip had gone himself to Peter's house to consult with Giles. Although his oldest brother was from home already, he was unfortunate enough to run into Marian, who was emerging from the breakfast room. She had quizzed him sharply on the strangeness of his being out alone at a time when any normal and properly reared youngster would be in the schoolroom at his books. Philip had mumbled some excuse about Miss Manford's having postponed lessons until the afternoon, but was very relieved when the footman had returned to say that Mr. Giles would receive his brother in his bed chamber.

Giles had been still in bed, nightcap pulled rakishly over one eyebrow. A cup of chocolate was cooling on the night table at his side. He woke up in a hurry, though, when he heard Philip's story. At the first part he bristled with indignation.

"She borrowed money from Cranshawe?" he said. "The fellow's nothing but a rake. Don't trust him."

"But why would she, Giles?" asked Philip. "What would Henry want money for? His Grace buys her all the clothes and finery she wants, and she don't gamble. She lectures Pen and me regularly on the sins of playing cards."

"It was all my fault," Giles said gloomily. "I'm the one who gambled myself into debt. Henry wormed it out of me. Said she had enough money to pay it off for me. The little widgeon. And I believed her." He snatched the nightcap off his auburn curls and slammed it down on the bed.

"Oh, I say," Philip commented, "you're lucky Papa is not alive, Giles. You would have got a whipping for sure."

"And would have deserved it, too," Giles admitted. "And you say Cranshawe has been threatening her? I'll call him out over this. Hand me my clothes, Phil."

"You haven't heard the worst of it yet," Philip warned.

"Eh?"

"She went to a moneylender yesterday," Philip said. "I followed her."

"She what?" Giles blanched. "Why would the little sapskull do a thing like that?"

"Manny and Pen and I guess that things got too hot for her with the teeth, and she went for the money to pay him back."

Giles groaned and clutched his head. "Oh, Henry, Henry!" was all he could say for a while.

"What are we going to do, Giles?" Philip asked. "Pen and I thought you might have some ideas."

Giles groaned again. "Let me think about it, Phil," he said. "I'll come up with something." Philip got up to leave. "But, Phil," he added, catching his brother by the sleeve, "keep on doing what you have been doing. Keep an eye on Henry, will you?"

Sitting in his chair now at White's, Giles was no nearer finding a solution than he had been while reclining in his bed at home. His first impulse had been to go to Eversleigh should have done at the start. He could have asked hi brother-in-law for a loan. He did not think the duke would have refused. It would have been humiliating to have to go to him when Eversleigh had already taken on so man of the family burdens with his marriage to Henry. But he deserved the shame; he had behaved with terrible irresponsibility, getting himself sent down from university and then gambling away money that he did not possess.

But how could he go to Eversleigh now? It was Henry's secrets more than his, own that he would be revealing. And she must have been more than reluctant to turn to her husband if she had gone to a moneylender rather than appeal to him. Poor Henry! He could not betray her now-

There seemed to be only one other solution. Giles would have to go himself to a moneylender and borrow the money with which his sister could repay both her debt and the interest that would have already accumulated. But it was a mad idea! Not only did he have no prospect of ever being able to repay the debt, but by acting in such a way, he would belittle the sacrifice that Henry had made for his sake.

While he was still wrestling with this problem, Giles was interrupted.

"Ah, here you are, Giles," said the Duke of Eversleigh. "This is the last room in the club I have thought of looking in. Are you acquiring studious habits in your rustication, dear boy?"

"Y-you were looking oking for me, your Grace?" stammered Giles, lowering his paper and staring aghast into the face of his brother-in-law. This was the last person he wished to see just now.

"I was merely looking for a luncheon companion, Eversleigh explained. "It is tedious to eat alone, you know. Nothing to think about except the food."

"Oh, yes, much obliged to you," Giles lied, getting to his feet and wondering what Eversleigh was up to. He was a very popular figure in the club. He could attract any table companion he cared to choose.

Fifteen minutes later, the two men were cutting into large platters of veal and vegetables.

"So, dear boy," Eversleigh said, abandoning the small talk that had occupied them thus far, "what have you found to amuse you in town?"

"Oh," said Giles evasively, "this and that."

"Ah. Parties?"

"Yes, some."

"The races?"

"Not often, your Grace."

"The muslin company?"

"Er, not too often." Giles was feeling decidedly uncomfortable.

"Cards?"

There was a pause. "Not any longer," Giles said finally.

"Ah," said the duke. "Excellent veal, is it not?"

"Eversleigh, what is the purpose of this interrogation?" Giles asked, putting down his knife and fork with hands that shook slightly and looking defiantly at his companion.

"Interrogation, dear boy?" Eversleigh replied, his sleepy eyes widening for a moment. "But I suppose you are right. Tell me, Giles, has my wife been paying your debts?"

"I… She…" Giles had paled again.

"You need not be afraid to speak out," Eversleigh said gently. "I wish to protect Henry as much as I assume you do."

"She seems uncommon afraid of you, sir," Giles said doubtfully.

Eversleigh considered. "I think not," he said. "I believe Henry is afraid only of herself. It irks her to know that she is a woman and might at times need to depend on a man."

Giles laughed shakily. "You do know her rather well, your Grace," he said with respect.

Eversleigh regarded his brother-in-law steadily. "Of course," he said. I happen to love her, you see. Now, tell me what you know, dear boy. I suspect that she has got herself into quite a mess."

Giles judged it expedient to tell Eversleigh everything Philip had told him that morning.

"A moneylender," Eversleigh mused. "Do you happen to know which one?"

"I suspect the one that I planned to go to," Giles guessed. "I believe I mentioned his name to her. Phil would be able to take you to the place."

"I prefer to leave the two amateur Bow Street runners out of this," Eversleigh said dryly. "And quite soon I am going to have to reintroduce those two to the schoolroom."

"What are you planning to do about Henry?" asked Giles.

Eversleigh favored him with a sleepy stare. "Don't worry your head about it, dear fellow," he said. "Your sister will be safe in my care, I assure you."

"Yes, I am sure she will be," Giles agreed. "It was the best day's work Doug Raeburn ever did when he trapped her into that wager.'

Eversleigh's eyebrows rose. "Wager?" he repeated.

Giles gave him a long look, then dropped his eyes to his plate. "Oh," he said, "she did not tell you."

"Suppose you tell me, Giles," said Eversleigh, "so that I can know if the incident merely slipped my mind."

"Oh, I say," said Giles, "perhaps she don't want you to know. "

The duke continued to stare at him disconcertingly through half-closed lids.

"It was just a piece of nonsense," Giles blurted at last, "Henry did not want to have a Season and she didn't want a husband. Then Doug Raeburn, our neighbor, you know, got her mad and wagered that she could not get an offer, by a certain date-I can't remember what-from a man he would name. We decided on you." He laughed in some embarrassment. "She won the wager."

"Yes, indeed," Eversleigh agreed softly, "and a certain high-perch phaeton, I believe? And you were quite right, dear boy. She had not told me."

Giles toyed with his food for several more uncomfortable, silent minutes.

Miss Manford had her promised talk with James Ridley also during the luncheon hour. She was surprised that much of what she had to say was not news to him. She was even more surprised to find that his source of information had been the Duke of Eversleigh himself. Ridley did show concern, though, over the news that Henry had been seen to visit a moneylender in an undesirable area of London.

"The duke feared as much," he observed. "I must tell him, Eugenia, as soon as he returns home." -

"Oh, please do not," she pleaded, hands clasped over her bosom. I fear the dear duchess will be in grave trouble if his Grace learns that she has been that indiscreet. Indeed, James, I should never forgive myself if I were the cause of bringing her into disgrace."

"You do not understand, my dear," her companion replied. "The duke seems genuinely concerned for her welfare. I believe he would be very relieved to know how he may rescue her from her difficulties."

"I don't know, James," Miss Manford said. "I should feel that I had betrayed the children's trust and dear Henry's-I mean, her Grace's-if word should get back to the duke."

"But there is little I can do on my own," Ridley protested.

"Oh, bless my soul," said Miss Manford, "is there nothing, James? You seem to have such strength of character and such practical ability.".

"And I am honored that you should turn to me, Eugenia," Ridley replied, laying a comforting hand over hers on the table for a moment. "What I shall do is have someone watch Cranshawe to make sure that he does not bother her Grace unduly. I am afraid there is little I can do to rescue her from the moneylender, since I do not have the funds with which to pay him off."

"Oh, you are a dear," Miss Manford cried, leaping to her feet and gazing admiringly down on her hero. I must return to the schoolroom. The dear children missed their lessons this morning and I do not wish them to grow up ignoramuses.