The Double Wager

Chapter 4

By four o'clock the following afternoon, Henry's head felt rather as if it were spinning on her shoulders. The lateness of the night before and the eventfulness of this day had been an exhausting combination.

When she was finally in bed the night before, she had not slept immediately. She had gone over and over in her mind the meeting with the Duke of Eversleigh. She had very obviously ruined any slim chance she might have had of bringing him to the point. And she had recognized as soon as she met him that the chance was indeed slim. Henry was a girl of some intelligence. She recognized a superior intellect and a more powerful will when she met them. It was just that she had never met either until she had deliberately run against the hard wall of Eversleigh's body the night before. Even so, she berated herself, she might have charmed him had she sighed and fluttered her eyelashes as she had seen other girls doing, or impressed him with witty but ladylike conversation.

But what had she done? She had prattled in most unladylike fashion, mentioning bosoms and admitting to considering balls a ridiculous pastime. And she had tripped all over him-twice! She remembered that gleam she had noticed in his eyes. It was surely disgust that he had been feeling. After he had returned her to Marian, he had not only refrained from asking her to dance with him again, he had left altogether. He had been about to escape when she first ran into him, she was sure. His meeting with her had not served to change his mind.

Henry admitted to herself that her chances of winning the wager were very remote indeed. From all she had heard, it seemed that Eversleigh did not frequent the social events of the ton. It seemed unlikely that she would even see him again in the coming weeks. And even if she did, it was unlikely that he would notice her. And she could not again use the device of "accidentally" colliding with him. The situation seemed hopeless.

But then, Henry admitted, perhaps this was a wager she would not mind losing. She had to confess that she had felt out of her depth with the duke. His reactions were not as open and predictable as were those of other people she knew. She had found it impossible to guess what he was thinking. And those heavy eyelids had hidden any clue that his eyes might have shown. Three times he had forced her to act according to his will: getting permission before she waltzed, curtsying to Sally Jersey, returning to Marian's side after the dance; and all three times he had accomplished his will without any hint of coercion. There had been none of the blustering of Papa or the posturing of Peter. Henry had the uncomfortable feeling that, if this man ever did offer for her, she would be drawn against her will into accepting. She had the niggling suspicion-and it kept her awake for longer than she found comfortable that she was just a teeny bit afraid of the Duke of Eversleigh.

Henry was normally an early riser. But on the morning after the ball she slept until midmorning. Even then she might not have woken if she had not become gradually aware of a commotion in the house. Doors were being opened and closed along the corridor outside her room. She could hear the voices of her sister-in-law, the housekeeper, and a maid, and-finally-of Peter. Henry hauled herself out of bed and dressed as quickly as she could, not stopping to call a maid. She dragged a brush through her tousled curls and left the room.

The center of the commotion was by this time a downstairs salon. When Henry reached the doorway, she discovered that Peter and Marian were inside, together with Miss Manford, Philip, Penelope, Brutus, the butler, the housekeeper, and a filthy, ragged little urchin, who stood in bewildered isolation in the middle of it all.

"You had no business bringing him into the house at all," Peter was scolding, "and certainly not through the front door. Do you children think we are a charitable institution?"

"But, Peter," Philip begged, "be was being beaten for stealing a roll of bread. And he only stole it because he was hungry. He has no father and his mother drinks gin all the time. We had to bring him with us."

"Poor little Tommy!" Penelope added. "We thought you might keep him here, Peter. He could help in the kitchen or stables, or you might train him to be your tiger."

"Silence, children!" their brother ordered. "Take the little beggar to the kitchen, Mrs. Lane, and give him a meal. And then drive him away, if you please. Do you understand, child? If you come back here, I shall have you taken up for loitering and thrown into jail."

Tommy appeared not to have understood a word that had been said to him. He balanced on one leg and tried to wrap the other leg around it, though his purpose in doing so was not at all clear.

"But, Peter-" Philip began.

"You two children may go to your rooms and remain there for the rest of the day," their brother interrupted. "And you can be very thankful that I do not thrash the pair of you."

"Mrs. Lane, the child!" Marian reminded the housekeeper, who did not appear to know how she was to remove the boy without contaminating herself by touching him.

Henry solved her problem. "Here, allow me!" she said indignantly, and stalked into the room, head high, eyes flashing. She stooped down, took Tommy's grubby paw, and led him from the room. "Let us see what we can find for you to eat belowstairs," she said kindly. "And we shall see if cook can spare a cloth or basket for you to take some food home with you. Do you have brothers and sisters?"

Mrs. Lane and the butler trailed out after her, and the twins ascended disconsolately to their rooms.

"Miss Manford," Sir Peter said, turning his attention to that hapless lady, "I am greatly displeased with the morning's events. Why, pray, did you take the twins walking in a part of London that is quite beneath their station?"

"They have a great curiosity, Sir Peter," she stammered. "They wished to visit a street market. But, indeed, I am very sorry…

"And it is quite beyond my comprehension why you would allow them to associate with such a ragamuffin as that child, and to bring him here!"

"I… Indeed, Sir Peter, I did suggest to them that you might not like it," Miss Manford explained helplessly, "but you know, sir, your dear father was always willing to aid the creatures and persons they brought home with them. He thought it good for them to become aware-"

"Miss Manford, he interrupted ruthlessly, I am not my father, and this is not Roedean. I recognize, ma'am, that you have been of inestimable help to my brothers and sisters in the past. For this reason I shall not dismiss you out of hand. I shall give you two months in which to find yourself a new situation. I shall ask you to remain away from the children for today. Good day, ma'am."

Poor Miss Manford was rendered almost speechless. She stammered her way from the room, hands fluttering ineptly in the air.

By the time Henry came back upstairs from the kitchen, having seen Tommy well fed with cold meat and bread and sent on his way with a well-stocked bundle, the butler was busy carrying some half-dozen bouquets of flowers into the drawing room. They were all for her from admirers of the night before. Henry chuckled with amazement. What an amusing game this was proving to be. The largest bouquet, one of deep-red roses, was from Viscount Marley, she noted. She pulled a face. The man was at least fifty and running to fat, but Marian had been all agog, seeming to feel that Henry would be a fool not to encourage his suit. Strangely enough, Marian had not taken Eversleigh seriously as a possible suitor; she was far too realistic for that. But she had been ecstatic over the favorable attention he had focused on her sister-in-law.

It seemed to Henry that she had hardly had time for breakfast and a secret visit to her brother and sister and their governess before Marian was directing her to return to her room to get properly groomed and dressed for afternoon visitors. There were certain to be some after the ball of the night before, she added.

Henry considered the whole business a frightful bore, though in the event she was amused to find that several of her partners of the previous evening were among the visitors. Viscount Marley was one of them. He even contrived to sit with Henry a little apart from the rest of the company. He entertained her with descriptions of his two young daughters, who missed their mama a great deal and were longing for the day when someone would be found to replace her. Henry succeeded somehow in keeping a polite smile on her face. The viscount had just requested the pleasure of Henry's company on a drive through the park when the visiting hour should be over, when a merciful interruption saved Henry from the embarrassment of either accepting or thinking up some lame excuse.

The butler entered the room and bowed to Marian. "Sir Peter Tallant wishes to see Miss Tallant in the library immediately, ma'am," he announced.

Marian glanced across at Henry in surprise. "You had better not keep him waiting, Henrietta," she said. "But do hurry back to our guests as soon as you are able."

Henry curtsied and made her way down to the library, which was Peter's domain. What had she done wrong now? Was he about to banish her and the twins to Roedean after their behavior of the morning? She could hardly think of a punishment she would enjoy more. She grimly approached the closed door and opened it.

The man who stood with his back to the room, staring out the window, was not Peter. A hasty glance around assured Henry that, in fact, her brother was not in the room at all. Then the man turned and she gaped. She found herself staring into the sleepy eyes of the Duke of Eversleigh!

"Ah, Miss Tallant," he said, hand straying to the handle of his quizzing glass, "good day to you. Pray come inside and close the door."

"Oh, your Grace, it's you," she said foolishly. "Pardon me, my brother is looking for me."

"How provoking of him," Eversleigh replied, "when he just a moment ago granted me permission to speak to you." He walked unhurriedly across the room. Henry stood paralyzed, her hand still on the knob of the open door.

"Please allow me to close the door," he said from beside her. "You seem incapable of doing so yourself."

"Oh, yes, your Grace," Henry said, skipping hastily across to the other side of the room.

"I assure you, ma'am," he said, shutting the door and surveying her through his quizzing glass, "I have not been eating garlic."

Henry giggled nervously. "Would you not like to come to the drawing room, your Grace?" she asked brightly. "There are other visitors there."

"How revolting!" he said, lowering the glass. "Are you so anxious to return to them, Miss Tallant?"

"Oh, no!" she confided. "Actually, I was very thankful to be called away. Lord Marley was pressing me to drive out with him, and I had really rather not. But Marian would have put me on bread and water for a week, had I refused. He is rich, you know, and has a title."

"Marley!" Eversleigh shuddered theatrically. I suppose he is out shopping for a new mama for his two brats?"

"Well, he did talk about them," she admitted.

"Quite so. Come and sit down over here, Miss Tallant, and stop cowering at the other end of the room. Indeed, if I wished to give chase, ma'am, I should catch you in a moment."

Henry bristled immediately. "I never cower!" she said. "And if you did chase me and catch me, you might be sorry.

The eyebrows rose above the blue eyes.

"I should kick and punch, she declared proudly. I once gave Giles a black eye."

"Giles has my sympathies," he commented dryly. "Stand there and cower, if you must, Miss Tallant. I am going to sit down."

Having made her point, Henry crossed the room and seated herself in the chair he had originally indicated.

"Miss Tallant, I perceive that it is useless to try to make polite small talk with you. I shall get immediately to the point. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

Henry's jaw dropped.

"Miss Tallant?"

"Your wife?" she asked faintly.

"Yes, my wife. I have taken you by surprise, I see. I mistakenly thought you had more fortitude, ma'am. Should I have paved the way more carefully by falling on my knees in front of you and declaring undying love and devotion? I can still do so, if you wish."

"Pray do not," she said anxiously. "You would look mighty ridiculous and I should be hard put to it not to laugh. "

"Then shall we sit here in silence while you consider what I have said?" he suggested with unaccustomed gentleness.

"Are you serious, your Grace?" she asked dubiously.

"About sitting in silence? Oh, yes, I very often contemplate the state of my own soul, ma'am."

"No, silly. I meant about marrying me."

"Oh, certainly. It can be dangerous to propose to a lady in fun, you know. She might just accept. Then the joke would be on me. But I would not be amused."

"But why?" Henry asked.

"Why would I not be amused, ma'am? Why, because

"No, stupid. Oh, pardon me, your Grace," Henry said, slapping a hand over her mouth. She noticed with dismay that last night's gleam was back in the duke's eyes.

"You meant, why do I wish to marry you?" he prompted. "I have the notion that it might be amusing, Henry. And it is a long time since I have been amused."

"But you do not know me," she protested. "I am dreadfully stubborn and outspoken, you know. And I hate to have to behave like a lady. And I will not let any man tell me what to do."

"I am in fear and trembling that you will bring my name into disgrace and that you will make of me a human jelly in no time at all, Miss Tallant," he said meekly.

Henry eyed him steadily. "You are funning me, are you not?" she said.

He considered her. I would not squash your spirit, Henry," he said softly, "but I am a man."

Henry shivered, for what reason she did not know. She jumped hastily to her feet and crossed to the window through which he had been looking when she came into the room. He did not attempt to talk to her while she stood there trying to force her whirling thoughts into some order.

She had won her wager, but the victory had come so easily and so unexpectedly that it seemed unreal. If she refused him now, how would she ever get Douglas-or even Giles-to believe that the Duke of Eversleigh had actually offered for her? Would she even believe it herself the next day? But how could she accept? It was all so sudden as to be ridiculous. They had met only the evening before. They were total strangers. Henry knew very little about the ways of the ton, but surely, she thought, courtships usually took a lot longer than this.

There was something very strange about the duke's proposal. He was fabulously wealthy, he was astonishingly handsome, and he held one of the highest ranks in the country. He must be into his thirties already. Why, suddenly, had he decided to offer for a little nobody that he did not know? She could not quite accept his explanation that he found her amusing. There had been nothing amusing about her gauche behavior of the night before. Anyway, she had nothing really to recommend her. She was only passably good-looking; she had no feminine graces; she was not wealthy. She would, in fact, make a quite deplorable duchess. Henry a duchess! She had to stifle a giggle for a moment.

And what of her own feelings? Henry could hardly believe that she was even giving consideration to his proposal. She certainly did not wish to be married. She knew that a married lady became the property of her husband. The idea was totally abhorrent to her. The only type of husband that might be acceptable would be one that she could manipulate at will. And yet, even as she thought it, she realized that it would be intolerable to be married to someone whom she could not respect. And what of Eversleigh? There was something about him that made Henry shiver. She remembered the hardness of his body when she had run against him the night before. But, his whole person seemed like that-like a brick wall in which she would not be able to make even the smallest dent. "I am a man," he had just said, and the remembered words made her shiver again. Why, then, did she feel so inclined to accept his proposal? It was just as she had thought last night. He seemed to exert a power over her Will without any visible effort.

What was she to do, then? Finally, Henry turned back to the room, an idea in her mind. She would throw the decision back to him. She crossed back to her chair and sat down without looking at him.

"Well, Henry?" Eversleigh prompted. "What is to be my fate? I can see by the jut of your chin that you have made a decision."

"I shall be your wife, your Grace, under one condition,".lie declared firmly.

"Indeed!" he replied haughtily. "Do I dare ask what that one condition might be?"

"In addition to me, you must take Philip and Penelope, Miss Manford, Brutus, and Oscar," she said in a rush.

Eversleigh had his glass to his eye again. "Dear me," he said, "is that one condition? And are these persons all members of your family, Henry?"

"Philip and Penelope are my twin brother and sister," she began. "They are twelve years old. Miss Manford is their governess. She was mine and Giles', too. Giles is my older brother."

"Quite so," he said. "The one of the black eye. And the one who warned you not to talk of bosoms."

"Oh," she said, nonplussed for the moment.

"And Brutus and Oscar?" he prompted.

"The twins' dog and parrot," she explained, watching him warily.

"Why do I get the feeling that there is more to say about the twins' dog and parrot?" he asked softly, his eyes beneath the lowered lids watching her closely.,

"Well," Henry said uncertainly, "Brutus looks like a small horse and he likes to eat things he is not supposed to cat. And he is… playful. Oscar was taught to speak by leis previous owner. His language is rather colorful."

The gleam was back in Eversleigh's eyes. "I see," he said. "And why, Henry, would it be necessary to transfer all these personalities to my household in the event of our marriage? Do you feel that you would need protection against me?"

"Oh, no, it's because Peter is quite horrid to them all." she cried. "Brutus and Oscar have been banished to the stables and Miss Manford has been dismissed. And the twins have been sent to their rooms for the whole of today." Henry got to her feet in her agitation and found herself telling Eversleigh all that had taken place that morning.

"You would not have sent the poor child away without doing something to help him, would you, your Grace?" she asked as she finished the account.

"Indeed I would not," he said decisively. "I should first have had the little beggar chained to the gatepost and whipped for his impudence."

Her eyes flashed and then she looked at him. "Oh, no, you would not," she said. "I know you would not."

"No, I would not," he agreed quietly.

"Miss Manford has nowhere to go," she said, turning away from his piercing eyes. "She has been with us forever. We are her family. And she is too old to get another position, I fear. She must be fifty, at least."

"Henry," Eversleigh said softly, also rising to his feet, you will agree to marry me if I take your family, too?"

"Yes," she whispered, eyes wide with apprehension.

"Then, my dear, I shall have the announcement appear in tomorrow's Morning Post." He crossed the room until he was standing in front of her. "Don't be afraid, Henry," he said, taking her cold hand in his. "We shall deal well together, you shall see." And he raised her hand and placed the palm against his warm lips for a long moment, holding her eyes with his the while.

Henry just gaped again.

"Will you go now, please?" he directed. "Ask the butler to send your brother back to me. I shall call on you and your sister-in-law tomorrow afternoon. Perhaps you would drive with me in the park afterward?"

And Henry, in a trance, obediently followed his directions.

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The marriage of Marius Devron, Duke of Eversleigh, to Miss Henrietta Tallant was undoubtedly the sensation of the Season. It was amazing enough that Eversleigh had decided to marry, but his choice of bride and the hastiness of the event (the wedding took place only three weeks after the betrothal announcement appeared in the Morning Post) had everyone agog.

Eversleigh bore up under the ordeal with his usual fortitude.

"Ah, James," he said to his secretary on the same afternoon as he had proposed to Henry, "still at work? Am I really such a slave driver, dear boy?"

"I am just finishing your speech for the House on Friday; your Grace," James Ridley replied, lifting his head.

"Ah," said Eversleigh, "did I not speak a few weeks ago, James? Did I know I was to speak again?"

Ridley gave his employer a long-suffering stare. "You did, your Grace," he said. "You asked me last week to write this speech for you."

"Quite so," Eversleigh agreed. "Some scintillating topic like the effect of the enclosure system on tenant farmers, was it not?"

"Yes, your Grace."

"I do hope you have not made it an impassioned speech," the duke said doubtfully. "That would not be my style at all, you know."

"I have merely tried to show that you care, your Grace," said Ridley. "And you do care, as I know very well."

"Do I, James?" the duke said, looking steadily at his secretary from below lowered lids. He turned to leave the room, then stopped as if something quite insignificant had crossed his mind. "You might write out a notice for the Morning Post for me, James."

"Yes, your Grace?"

"Announce my forthcoming marriage to Miss Henrietta Tallant, daughter of the late Sir Harold Tallant of Sussex, sister of Sir Peter Tallant, will you, dear boy?"

Ridley was speechless.

Eversleigh raised his quizzing glass to his eye. "Are you not going to congratulate me, James?" he asked.

"Y-you are getting m-married, your Grace?" Ridley stammered.

"In three weeks' time," Eversleigh said matter-of-factly. "Draw up a list of people whom I will want to invite, will you, James?"

"Y-yes, your Grace, right away," said Ridley.

"Oh, no, dear boy, the duke said with a sigh. "Tomorrow morning will by soon enough. I am too tired to see you work longer today. Oh, and, James," he added, "do have breakfast with me tomorrow morning. I expect a visit from my cousin soon after the morning paper is delivered."

"Yes, your Grace,"said Ridley.

The duke was quite correct. As he sat over his coffee the next morning conversing amiably with James Ridley, they heard the arrival of a visitor in the main hallway. Moments later, Oliver Cranshawe let himself into the breakfast room, unannounced.

"Good morning, Oliver," Eversleigh greeted him without looking up.

"I fail to see what is so good about it," Cranshawe snapped, slapping a folded copy of the morning paper down on the end of the table.

"Have some breakfast, dear boy," Eversleigh said, waving a languid hand in the direction of the sideboard. "Things never seem so bad on a full stomach, you know."

"I wish to talk to you, Marius," Cranshawe said, not moving toward the food. He looked pointedly at James Ridley, who apparently did not notice the hint.

"I rather gathered you did, Oliver," the duke commented, "or you would not be out of your bed at such an ungodly hour. Sit down, please. It makes me tired to see you stand there."

"Marius, will you stop this game of being weary and bored and show some feeling for once. And put your quizzing glass down, for goodness' sake. I know you can see perfectly well without it." He pulled a chair noisily from under the table and seated himself heavily on it.

There was a short silence as Eversleigh sipped his coffee and Ridley tried to melt into the furniture.

"Marius," Cranshawe exploded at last, "I want to know what is the meaning of this!" He picked up the newspaper and flung it down in front of his cousin.

Eversleigh studied the notice with minute care. "It seems quite correct to me," he said. "The only point that troubled me, I must confess, is that Miss Tallant dislikes being called Henrietta. But I thought people might be confused if I announced my betrothal to Henry Tallant. Some few might even be scandalized, do you not agree, Oliver?"

Cranshawe appeared to be holding his temper in check with great difficulty. "You cannot be serious, Marius. You have been so confirmed in your bachelorhood that you will make yourself a laughingstock with this announcement."

"Indeed so, Oliver?" the duke asked, eyeing his cousin with raised eyebrows. "I had not realized I was so decrepit with age. I suppose we never see ourselves as we really are, do we?"

"The girl is barely out of the schoolroom," Cranshawe added..

"You think I shall not know what to do with her, Oliver?" Eversleigh asked. "I assure you, dear boy, I am still, er, capable, despite my advanced age. With superhuman effort, I might even beget an heir."

Cranshawe turned an interesting shade of purple. "You are doing this to provoke me, are you not, Marius?" he said, his handsome face contorted with anger. "You have always hated the thought of your title passing to me, have you not?"

"You see, dear boy," the duke replied, "it is not a pleasant thought to think of my title passing to anyone, when I must be dead first. Yes, you are quite right, 0liver. I find the thought abhorrent."

"You make a joke of everything," Cranshawe accused coldly. "It is impossible to talk to you. But believe me, Marius, you are making a mistake. For your own good, I tell you you will be a laughingstock marrying such a little fright. The Duchess of Eversleigh with freckles and untame curls and feet that tie themselves into knots in the middle of a dance floor!"

Eversleigh did not appear to hurry. Yet, by the time the last word had left Cranshawe's mouth, he was being helped none too gently to his feet with the assistance of an iron grip on both lapels of his coat.

"I regret that you are unable to stay longer, Oliver," Eversleigh said urbanely, his lazy blue eyes looking into Cranshawe's brown ones, only inches away. "Just a piece of cousinly advice before you leave, dear fellow. Talking with too loose a tongue can be injurious to the health, you know." He released his hold on his cousin's lapels, dusted his hands off, lowered himself casually into his chair again, and resumed drinking his coffee.

Cranshawe stalked across the room without a word.

"Ah, don't forget your paper, dear boy," the duke said kindly a split second before the door slammed behind his cousin.

"James, remind me to tell the butler about the draft in the hallway," he said to Ridley.

"Yes, your Grace."

During the afternoon, before he took Henry driving as promised, Eversleigh visited Suzanne Broughton. She had summoned him by letter and was for once alone in her drawing room when he arrived. She did not waste time in coming to the point.

"Marius," she said imperiously as her butler closed the double doors behind him, "what is the meaning of this ridiculous announcement in the Post?"~

"Dear me," Eversleigh replied, a mystified frown drawing his brows together, "I shall really have to consider dismissing James Ridley from my service. He seems incapable of writing a communication that a reader might understand. You are the second person to ask me that question today, Suzanne."

"Oliver Cranshawe being the other, I presume," she snapped.

The duke inclined his head. "You must give me your felicitations, Suzanne," he said. "Miss Henrietta Tallant has consented to be my wife."

"A mere schoolroom chit, Eversleigh!" she retorted. "You will be tired of her in a week. I know you better than you know yourself, it seems."

"Quite likely, my dear," he agreed readily, "but an aging man must be allowed his dreams."

"Aging!" she said scornfully.

"Yes. It seems that my heir has hopes that the, er, exertions of the marriage bed might help me to my grave prematurely. In fact, when his temper cools, I believe he might conclude that this is the best thing that has happened to him in some time."

"Don't be so absurd, Marius," Suzanne retorted. "It seems that you have been merely toying with my affections. Am I no more than a light-skirts to you?"

Eversleigh surveyed her haughtily through his quizzing glass. "Suzanne, could it be that you are jealous?" he asked. "Had you expected an offer?"

She blushed and turned away in annoyance.

"No, no, you would not enjoy the restrictions of marriage, my dear," he continued, especially to me. I should demand fidelity, you see. I believe the late Mr. Broughton was more liberal?"

"Marius, how positively medieval you are sometimes, she fumed, turning back to face him across the room. "What possible difference can it make, provided the proprieties are maintained? Fidelity went out of fashion a long age ago. You surely have no intention of remaining faithful to that pathetic little thing you are going to marry, have you? It would be a resolution impossible for you to keep." She laughed scornfully.

Eversleigh's lips thinned. "Then you must be grateful that I have not put you in danger of becoming a neglected wife," he remarked coldly.

"And do not think that you can come here and comfort yourself in my bed whenever your wife bores you," Suzanne continued.

Eversleigh bowed. "You make yourself abundantly clear, ma'am," he said.

"Oh, Marius," she cried suddenly, tears filling her eyes. She rushed across the room and threw her arms around his neck. "Indeed you are making a mistake. You are a very demanding man and I know how to please you. And you satisfy me. How can I find another to match you? What can she offer that I cannot?"

Eversleigh looked down at her impassioned face through half-closed lids. He did not accept the invitation of her pouted lips. "Amusement," he replied. "You see, she amuses me, Suzanne."

She stared at him blankly and then laughed uncertainly. "She amuses you?", she repeated. "And that is reason for marriage?"

"An excellent one," he agreed. "I believe I shall not know a moment's dullness with Henry."

"Henry!" she repeated, revolted.

Later that same evening, Suzanne Broughton and Oliver Cranshawe met at a card party. They gravitated toward each other at suppertime.

"So, Suzanne," Cranshawe said, not bothering to charm her with his practiced smile, "my cousin has succeeded in thumbing his nose at both of us, it seems."

Suzanne looked haughtily back at him. "You, perhaps, she agreed. "but how me, pray?"

"Oh, come, Suzanne," he said, one corner of his mouth curling into a parody of a smile, "I am perfectly well aware that you were hoping to be the Duchess of Eversleigh. And he did appear to be leading you on, did he not?"

"I wish him well," she said with a brittle laugh. "His betrothal affects me not at all."

"But, if we could get revenge, my dear, you would not be displeased?" he asked, watching her carefully.

"Revenge?"

"I think it is probably too late to prevent the marriage, Cranshawe admitted. "He would not be persuaded to call it off, and she, little, minx, must be over the moon at having ensnared such a catch. But perhaps, Suzanne, we could ensure that it is not a prosperous marriage?" His voice had become soft and insinuating.

"How so?" she asked, trying to keep her piqued interest out of her eyes and voice.

"She looks a perfect ninny of a chit, this, er, Henry of his," Cranshawe said. "Should I get to know her and try what my charm can accomplish?"

Suzanne looked measuringly at him and then allowed herself to smile. "You area perfect devil, are you not, Oliver?" she said amiably. "But keep in mind that Marius as an enraged husband might be a trifle dangerous. There is no dueling weapon at which he is not adept."

"It might be worth the risk, though," he said, the sneer curling his lip again. "Do you not agree, Suzanne?"

"Why do you tell me this, Oliver?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I thought you might like to know that all is not lost," he said. "And if you could contrive to continue your liaison with Marius, we might make mischief out of it."

She smiled briefly and rose to move away to join a different group. "It would be a pleasure," she said with double meaning.

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And so the wedding took place, three weeks after the betrothal announcement, in St. George's, Hanover Square. Three hundred hastily invited guests attended and feasted at a large and lavish reception.

Finally, the Duke and Duchess of Eversleigh were alone in his town house, the pair of wagers won. They were to spend the wedding night in London and set out for a two-week wedding trip to Paris the next day.