Mary Balogh - The Double Wager

All that needed to be decided now, Henry thought, was where she was to go and what she was to do. It was not an easy problem to solve. What did a destitute ex-duchess do to provide herself with the necessities of life? She supposed that she would have to try to get herself a position as a governess, though she recalled with dismay her lack of accomplishments. The only other possibility was to try to find some old lady or invalid who wanted a companion. She could not quite picture herself wheeling a crotchety old dear around Bath to take the waters, but beggars cannot be choosers, she decided philosophically.

In the meantime, while she was waiting around for a suitable position with which to fill the remainder of her life, Henry decided that she would go to Roedean. No one need know. The staff there had known her all her life. They would certainly not turn her away, and if she asked them particularly, they would keep her presence there secret from Peter. It would just be a temporary arrangement, anyway.

Henry decided to leave very early the following morning, before the servants were up. She did not believe that she would be missed until late in the day. She would take the stagecoach into Sussex so that she could not be easily traced. She would leave a note to be delivered to Marius late in the afternoon. She hated having to delay; it would have suited her better to leave immediately. But common sense told her that it was too late in the day to begin a journey. Anyway, she would be missed within a few hours. She and Marius were due to dine early at home before going to Lord and Lady Spencer's ball. She did not feel in any mood to playact for a whole evening, but she supposed that she would somehow live through the ordeal.

Henry sat down at her escritoire and set herself immediately to the task of writing her farewell letter to Marius. It took her a long time and many aborted attempts, but finally she was reasonably well satisfied with what she had produced.

Dear Marius,

When you read this, I shall be gone. I shall not tell you where I am going, because I do not intend ever to return. Please do not concern yourself over my welfare. I shall contrive somehow to live alone. I wish you may divorce me.

I feel that I should inform you of a large debt that I have incurred, since it is possible that payment will be demanded of you. I borrowed three thousand pounds from Mr. Cranshawe to pay some gaming debts that I was unwise enough to incur. Later, I borrowed money from a usurer to repay your cousin, but he has since repaid that debt for me. Thus, the money I now owe Mr. Cranshawe must be considerably more than the original. I am sincerely sorry that you may become involved in this matter.

Marius, I know that I am in no position to ask a favor of you. But I beg you to do one thing, not for me-I shall never ask anything more of you for myself. Please, your Grace, will you help Manny find a new post? You have been kind to her. I am confident that you will not leave her destitute.

Good-bye, Marius. I truly believe that I am taking the course that will be best for both of us.

Henry signed her name resisting the temptation to add a brief message of love. He must not know that this separation would be more painful to her than it would be to him. She folded the letter carefully and hid it in the drawer of her jewelry case.

The evening was as painful as Henry had expected it to be. Dinner passed tolerably well, as Manny, Mr. Ridley, and the twins were also present. Conversation was general, and Henry was able to withdraw into herself and take her silent farewell of the table's occupants. Phil and Penny were boisterous and frequently troublesome, but she loved them fiercely. They reminded her so strongly of the golden age of her own life, when she had been at home with Giles and his cronies for friends, when she had not had to worry about society and what it would think of her, when she had had no idea of the existence of love and longing. It would be hard to leave them. She would see them again, no doubt. But it might be years in the future. They might be quite grown-up. They would certainly be changed.

It was hard, too, to know that Manny was facing a difficult time, and that she, Henry, was largely responsible. The governess was more like a family member than a servant. She was a sweet and sensitive person. It would hurt her to be severed from the family she had served for so many years. Henry shuddered inwardly when she recalled that soon she would know what it was like to be in a situation like Manny's, not really belonging anywhere, not secure in any position.

She watched Mr. Ridley as he talked knowledgeably about the growth of factories in the northern towns and about the changes in society that would surely occur before long. He was a dry and sober man, and yet she had developed an affection for him since her marriage. He was undoubtedly a man of integrity and was devoted to his employer. Even him she would miss.

And, inevitably, her attention turned to Marius himself, I looking darkly handsome in dark-gold satin evening clothes with gleaming white linen; his hair, longer than usual, was brushed forward around his face and over his forehead. He made conversation with each of the varied members of his household with a languid grace; yet each one, Henry noticed, was flushed with happiness. Each was made to feel important. What went on in the mind of the man? she wondered. She had been married to him for six weeks already, had spent time with him almost daily ever since, had conversed with him freely, had made love with him on one occasion. Yet she felt that she did not know him at all. So much seemed hidden behind the half-closed eyelids and the disciplined face that almost never smiled or displayed any other emotion, in fact. Reason warned her that he was a man to be despised, yet, intuition told her that he was a mail to be trusted and loved. She supposed it did not matter now which part of her brain was correct. After tonight she might never see him again. She would certainly never live with him again as his wife.

They sat side by side in the town carriage on the way to the ball, in silence for a while. Finally Eversleigh took his wife's right hand in his and looked down at her.

"You are very quiet tonight, my love," he commented. "Are you not feeling quite the thing?"

Henry tried to remove her hand. She could not think straight when he touched her. "I am fine," she said. "Just a little tired, perhaps."

"I thought you did not indulge in human frailties like tiredness, Henry," he said.

"Absurd!" she replied.

"I see you have had your ring returned,'' he commented fingering the sapphire on her hand. "Do you feel better now that you have it safely back where it belongs?"

Henry swallowed. "I felt that it needed checking," she mumbled.

"Quite so," he agreed, "but now it should be safe for another lifetime." And, to Henry's discomfort, he continued to hold her hand as he lapsed into silence for the rest of the short journey to Lord Spencer's mansion.

Marius danced with her twice, a pleasure that was too much like torture for Henry to enjoy. She danced every other dance, too, and was very thankful that she had the perfect excuse to avoid Cranshawe. Her card was full, she told him quite truthfully when he came to solicit her hand 16r a waltz. He bowed gracefully and bared his teeth in what might have seemed a charming smile to any onlookers.

"When will you stop fighting me, my dear?" he murinured, for her ears only. "You know that you must give in to me soon. I can wait for a while, my dear, because the prize seems to be worthwhile, but I am not by nature a patient man, you know. Do not try me too far."

It was at that moment that the need for revenge was reborn in Henry's mind. She could not be contented with simply disappearing and leaving him to his triumph. She had to do something to make him feel as trapped and humiliated as he had made her feel. The plan did not develop at all-she was too busy dancing and smiling and conversing. But she would think of something. She was not Henry Devron if she let the rat get away with what he had done to her.

The most painful part of the evening came when Ever-sleigh and Henry returned home. She was achingly conscious, as he escorted her as usual to the door of her mom that this was the last time she would be with him like amp;s. She hoped, and feared, that he would say a quick good night and leave her. He paused and waited for her to turn and face him. His hands lightly framed her face, his fingertips buried in her curls.

"Henry," he said, "you have not been quite yourself lately, I think. Would you like it if I finished my business here early and we left for Kent later this week instead of waiting for another fortnight?"

Henry felt dangerously close to tears. I don't know," she said.

"Perhaps we could spend more time together, get to know each other better," he continued softly.

Henry did not reply, only stared at him wide-eyed.

"You need not fear that I shall press my attentions on you," he said with a strange, crooked smile. "Let us just he friends, shall we?"

Henry continued to stare. "I am tired," she said finally.

He dropped his hands immediately. "Of course," he said. "We shall talk tomorrow."

"Marius!" she said, reaching out a hand as he turned away.

"Yes, my love?" He turned to face her again, a look on his face that she had not seen there before. He looked almost hurt.

She smiled bleakly. "I'm sorry, she said, but she did not know for what she was apologizing.

"Good night, Henry," he said.

"Good night, Marius." She had to rush into her room and close the door hastily behind her so that he would no4 see her face crumple.

The Duke of Eversleigh was from home most of the next day. His wife had not been up when he finished breakfast. So he left without seeing her and was busy until late in the day. Despite the cool reception his suggestion had bad from Henry the night before, he pressed on with his plan to finish his business in the city within the next day or two. He felt that she needed to get away from Cranshawe. His own preference was always for the country, especially at this time of year, when the city was hot and dusty. The children, too, he felt, would be happier with more freedom.

Eversleigh was not sure if his marriage could be saved. His wife had obviously accepted his offer only to win that absurdly childish wager. It seemed as if she had regretted her decision ever since. For one night he had hoped that perhaps she was beginning to lose her abhorrence of his touch. But he had rushed his fences and driven her farther away.

Perhaps in Kent he would be able to woo her trust and, eventually, her love. They would be in a quiet, relaxed atmosphere, free from the constant tedium of social activities, free to spend their time doing what they both enjoyed best, riding in the wide open spaces.

So Eversleigh spent the day with his man of business, settling his affairs for the following few months, at least. He went immediately to his room on returning home and summoned his valet to help him get ready for dinner.

"A letter for you, your Grace," that individual said, handing him the folded sheet that Henry had given to Betty's care the night before, "to be delivered to you as soon as you returned home this afternoon."

"Ah!" said Eversleigh. "Why was it not dealt with by Ridley?"

"It is personal, I understand, your Grace," his valet replied. "Her Grace entrusted it to her maid's care."

Eversleigh gave his servant a swift glance and took the letter. When he had finished reading it, he threw it down onto a dressing table and shocked his man by swearing aloud.

"When was this given to you,, John?" he asked.

"At noon, your Grace."

"And how long had the maid had it?"

"I did not ask, sir."

"Summon her," Eversleigh ordered, picking up the letter again and pacing the floor as he reread it.

A frightened-looking Betty knocked timidly at the door a couple of minutes later and bobbed a curtsy when she was let inside.

"This letter," Eversleigh said, "when did my wife give it to you?"

"Last night, your Grace."

"And why was it not given to me this morning?"

Betty was twisting her apron around and around one finger. "Her Grace told me I must not give it to John until noon today, your Grace," she explained, "and I was to tell him to hand it to you when you came in."