The Double Wager (8 page)

“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 i 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; I 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,” she 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 eat. And he is . . . playful. Oscar was taught to speak by his 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.

* * *

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 be 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, Oliver. 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 untamed 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.”