"Quite so," Eversleigh agreed, idly fondling Henry's fingers beneath his hand.

"We took the gig, your Grace. But there was such a large crowd of people there that we could not hope to get close. Miss Manford urged her charges to stay close to the gig and not to wander away. We tried to persuade them that when the balloon became inflated and airborne, we would have a splendid view of it."

"But we couldn't see a thing!" Penelope shrieked. "Just bonnets and parasols and carriages and things."

"I believe you," her brother-in-law said unsympathetically. "James?"

"They wandered away, your Grace, and soon we lost them completely. Miss Manford and I searched the area until the last carriage had left and finally returned here in the desperate hope that they would have found their way home.".

Miss Manford sniffed again.

"We weren't even lost," Philip chimed in indignantly. "Peter…"

"Thank you, dear boy," the duke said. "Perhaps someone would tell me how you did get home. Tallant?"

"I was watching with my wife and her sister, Eversleigh," Sir Peter began, glad of the renewed chance to air his grievance, "when what did I see but my own brother and sister, quite unchaperoned, making spectacles of themselves."

Eversleigh's brows rose in alarm. "I feel for you!" he said.

"Yes, indeed," Sir Peter continued, "they had actually climbed under the cordon and were interfering with the balloon workers."

"We were only asking Penelope began, but she was quelled by a glance from her older brother.

"I had to face the indignity, Eversleigh, of crawling under the rope myself and, in full view of half the ton, gathering these two together and escorting them away. I brought them home immediately."

"But, Marius, he did not give a thought to poor Manny and Mr. Ridley," Henry complained, staring wide-eyed into her husband's face.

Eversleigh squeezed her hand, but continued to look politely at his brother-in-law.

"I had given Miss Manford notice before she came here, Eversleigh," Sir Peter stated, aggrieved. "Now perhaps you will see for yourself that she is totally incapable of controlling the twins and quite incompetent as a governess."

"Perhaps I shall," Eversleigh agreed soothingly.

"It is time Philip was sent away to Eton," Sir Peter continued. "I shall begin to make arrangements immediately. Penelope must have a stricter governess, one who will train her to be a lady. You have only to look at Henrietta to see how incapable Miss Manford is of accomplishing that goal. I shall look to it, Eversleigh."

Eversleigh's fingers had tightened imperceptibly around Henry's. His gaze, under the half-closed lids, sharpened. "Penny," he said pleasantly, "perhaps you would help Miss Manford to her room? I believe a rest before dinner would be in order. James, you will not wish to waste what is left of your day off standing around here. You may take yourself off, dear boy. Phil, you may return those two volumes that are on the mantel to the library. oh, and wait for me there, will you?"

Within seconds, only three people were left in the room. "Have a seat, Tallant," Eversleigh directed, leading his wife to a sofa and seating himself beside her. He still held her hand on his arm. "Now," he said, fixing his brother-in-law with a sleepy stare, "I believe you owe her Grace an apology, Tallant?"

"What?"

"Forgive me," the duke continued, "perhaps in all the excitement of the last few minutes my hearing became defective. I thought I heard you declare publicly that my wife is not a lady."

Sir Peter's jaw dropped. "Those were not quite my words," he said, "but we all know that Henrietta is not exactly everyone's ideal image of a lady of quality."

"She is mine," Eversleigh replied softly.

Henry stole a startled look at his hard profile. She could hardly believe her ears. All her life she had been labeled a tomboy. Her family had always lamented, if in a loving way, her lack of feminine charms. Could the very correct and sophisticated Duke of Eversleigh be seriously claiming that she was his ideal lady? But of course he was not. He was merely a proud man protecting the honor of his property. She sighed.

"I was not offended, Marius," she said, pulling her hand away from his at last. In fact, I would hate to be the typical lady. I should have to plan the pianoforte and sing and embroider and simper. Ugh!"

"Tallant?" Eversleigh asked, momentarily ignoring his wife.

"Well, of course I am sorry if I hurt anyone's feelings," Sir Peter blustered. "I was merely using a brother's privilege of speaking his mind."

"Ah," said Eversleigh, "was that what you were doing too when you planned Eton for Philip and a new governess for Penelope?"

"I am their legal guardian," Sir Peter said stiffly. "I have a responsibility to them."

"Ah, but it is a responsibility that you largely abdicated to me when we made an agreement prior to my marriage," the duke replied.

"It seems that you did not realize what a burden that task might be," Sir Peter commented.

"Tallant," Eversleigh said, raising his quizzing glass and viewing the other lazily through it, "as I see it, there is room for only one master in my home. It may be unreasonable of me, my dear fellow, but I have always insisted that that master be me. Now, I really cannot have you storm into my house when I am not even present and upset my wife, attempt to dismiss my employees, and try to organize the lives of children whom you gave into my charge. I believe I make myself clear?"

"Am I then to stand idly by while my brother and sister frolic around London without restraint and make perfect asses of themselves?" Sir Peter asked, shaking with anger.

"Ah, but you see, my dear fellow," Eversleigh replied, "they were not without chaperonage, had you not snatched them away. And are children to be labeled asses merely because they behave as children?"

Sir Peter rose to his feet. "I felt rather sorry for you, Eversleigh," he said, "when you paid your addresses to Henrietta without any close acquaintance with her. I thought you would soon discover your mistake. Now I believe you have gained only what you deserve."

"Quite so," Eversleigh agreed amiably. "I believe you might be right, dear fellow."

The "dear fellow" stormed out of the room and down the stairs, ignoring the growls of Brutus, who was still stretched across the doorway of the room.

Henry jumped to her feet and clapped her hands. "Marius, I could hug you!" she cried, her eyes glowing at him. "I have wanted all my life to hear someone give Peter a set-down like that."

"Could you, my love?" Eversleigh asked, also standing, so that he was very close to her.

Henry stood spellbound, a strange churning feeling low in her stomach- Her eyes locked with her husband's. "Marius," she said at last, almost in a whisper, "are we a terrible burden to you? We always get into such scrapes, you know, and I think Peter was right-I am not really a lady. "

"Ah, but you said yourself that you do not really wish to be," he said.

"But I do not want to be an embarrassment to you, Marius," she said wistfully.

"You would have to try very hard to be that, my dear," he said, the familiar gleam in his eyes. He reached up a hand and stroked her cheek lightly with one knuckle.

"Why do you put up with us, Marius?" she asked.

"For the reason I mentioned before our marriage," he replied. "You amuse me." He continued to stroke her cheek.

Henry was confused. She wanted to move away from him; she did not like being within his aura of power and masculinity. And yet she found herself involuntarily leaning her cheek into his knuckle. She wanted him to have no binding claim on her, and yet she felt a sinking of her spirits at his last words. What did she want? She did not know. She only felt overwhelmingly grateful that he had taken her part against her brother and won a victory for her. Yet, even this feeling annoyed her. She did not want to appear weak and in need of protection.

Henry's confusion was suddenly multiplied tenfold when Eversleigh quite unexpectedly drew her into his arms and covered her lips with his own. She was so surprised, in fact, that it was several seconds before she realized that she had put her arms up around his neck and arched her hips and thighs against his. She felt the heat rise in him and the kiss deepen before she began to push furiously at his chest.

"Don't do that!" she demanded breathlessly as they drew apart. "You know I dislike it."-

He stood, seemingly relaxed, a laugh in his eyes. "Poor little Henry!" he said. "When will you realize that you are a woman?"

"Oh!" she said crossly. "First my brother says I am not a lady, and now you say I am not a woman."

"And I say that Phil will be reaching the far stages of boredom downstairs in the library with nothing to do but look at books," said Eversleigh. "Come, my love, do not be cross with me. I promise to try to curb my animal instincts. "

And he strolled from the room, leaving Henry's mind and body in turmoil.

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In the library, Eversleigh was soon offering an indignant Philip a choice: either to spend three days indoors doing extra tasks in the schoolroom, or to receive a thrashing there and then.

"But I did not do anything so very wrong," the boy protested. "Pen and I knew how to get back to Manny and Mr. Ridley. We were never lost. And we were not interfering with those men. We were merely asking some questions. If Peter had not hauled us away, there would have been no problem."

"It is not for any of those things that I propose to punish you," the duke explained, strolling over to his desk and perching on the end of it. "It is your behavior to Miss Manford that I take exception to."

Philip stared, uncomprehending. "Manny?" lie said. "She is used to us. We are always playing pranks on her, or we forget and do things without thinking. But she knows that we mean no harm. She don't mind."

"On the contrary, Phil," said Eversleigh, "it seemed to me when I entered the drawing room earlier that she minded a great deal."

"That was only because Peter had been giving her a great scold," Philip explained. "She was not mad at us. And she would not have been so upset if Peter had not kidnapped Pen and me and brought us home so that Manny thought we were lost in good earnest. It was all his fault. "

"Was it, dear boy?" the duke asked. "Was not your disobedience to your governess at the root of the whole matter?"

Philip stared, unable to think of an answer.

"You see, Phil," Eversleigh said, standing and wandering over to the fireplace, where he took up his favorite stance leaning an elbow on the mantel, "ladies in Miss Manford's situation can lead a miserable life. Many people feel that they do not have to be treated with the same courtesy and respect that one would afford to a lady of independent means. A true gentleman will not make the distinction. You frightened the lady this afternoon and caused her to become an object of anger and contempt."

Philip continued to stare. He had turned noticeably paler. "I had not thought of it that way before," he said.

"No," Eversleigh agreed, "I thought you had not." He considered the boy in silence for a while. "Well, Phil, which is it to be?"

Philip straightened his shoulders. "I'll take the thrashing, sir," he said.

Eversleigh did not move. "Good lad!" he said. "If you realize that you deserve it, Phil, it seems that you probably do not need it. You are dismissed."

"Now, sir?" stammered Philip. "D-do you want me to return some other time?"

"Not particularly, dear boy," said Eversleigh. "I find myself tolerably contented without your company. But I will require it if I find you disregarding the feelings of Miss Manford again, Phil. Somehow, though, I do not expect it."

"Thank you, sir," Philip yelled, and he tore through the doorway before his brother-in-law could change his mind.

Chapter 7

Henry did not see a great deal of Giles in the few weeks following his arrival in London. He avoided the round of social events that she now attended almost with enjoyment. He did visit her and the twins occasionally, and she sometimes spotted him in Hyde Park during the afternoons, when the whole fashionable world, it seemed, paraded on horseback, in carriages, and on foot. He was always with a group of fashionable young men, some of them outright dandies. She noticed that Giles, too, now dressed in the height of fashion. His collar points were often so high that Henry wondered how he could turn his head or even see to right or left. His coats were so close-fitting that she imagined he must have been poured into them. His boots were so shiny that they must surely be polished with champagne, an affectation that was current among some of the young bucks, she had heard.