"I see," he said, terrifying the poor girl further by fixing her with a stare from beneath his heavy lids. "Have you seen my wife today?"

"No, your Grace."

"No?" His eyebrows rose disdainfully. "Is it -not part of your normal duties to help her rise in the mornings?"

"Yes, your Grace, but she was gone when I took her chocolate upstairs this morning."

"Indeed?" he said. "And what time was that?"

"Nine o'clock, as usual, your Grace."

"Did it not strike you as strange that she was not there?" he asked.

"Her Grace sometimes rides early, sir," she replied.

"I see. But did it not alarm you when she did not come home, even at luncheon time?"

"Yes, your Grace," she whispered.

"Speak up, girl," he barked. "Did you tell anyone of your fears?"

"I spoke to Miss Manford and the young lady and gentleman," Betty said.

"Ah, the Bow Street runners," Eversleigh commented.

"They helped me search the room, your Grace."

"Indeed? And by what right, may I ask, did you do such a thing?" Eversleigh asked.

"Mr. Ridley suggested that we see if the duchess had taken anything with her, your Grace."

"Ah, the plot thickens,", he commented with irony. "And what did you find, Betty?"

"Some clothes and a valise have been taken, your Grace, she replied.

"And anything else? Any jewelry or other valuables?"

"No, nothing, your Grace."

"Little fool!" he exclaimed savagely. "No, not you, girl," he added when an already overwrought Betty burst into tears. "John, send Mr. Ridley to me."

John ushered Betty out of the room ahead of him. Ridley arrived a few minutes later.

"Well, James," Eversleigh said, "what do you know of my wife's disappearance?"

"Nothing, your Grace, except that she has gone," said Ridley, "and has taken a small amount of hand luggage with her. I have checked at the stables. She has taken no horse or carriage."

"So she is still here in London," Eversleigh mused, "or has taken the stage somewhere."

Ridley did not reply.

"How much money had she, James, do you have any idea?" the duke asked.

"She received her allowance three weeks ago, your Grace. The next one is due next week."

Eversleigh slammed the letter down on the dressing table and swore again. I am a prize fool, do you know that, James?" he asked.

Ridley was wise enough not to offer an opinion.

"I would return that ring and that signed document anonymously," Eversleigh continued. "I did not wish to give her the humiliation of knowing that I had discovered her secret and paid her debt. And it never for a moment crossed my mind that she would think that rogue cousin of mine was responsible."

"Did she think that, your Grace?"

"Yes, and has confessed all in a farewell letter to me, Eversleigh answered with vicious self-reproach in his voice. "Where would she have gone, James?"

"I have spent all afternoon searching my mind for an answer, your Grace," Ridley said.

"To her brother, do you think?"

"We have checked there, sir."

"Ah. 'We' being you and the Bow Street runners, I presume?"

"The Bow-? Yes, your Grace. Sir Peter and his wife know nothing of her whereabouts. We did not hint that the duchess had disappeared."

"Thank you, James," Eversleigh replied dryly. "I suppose all of London will know of it before the world is much older."

"Not from me, your Grace."

"Hmm. I believe I shall pay a call on my illustrious heir, James."

Ridley coughed. "He is in London, sir, and has not had contact with her Grace today. He lunched at Watier's and visited Tattersall's this afternoon. He is currently at White's, I believe, sir."

Eversleigh gave him an interrogative glance, eyebrows raised.

Ridley coughed again. "I promised Miss Manford a few days ago that I would have him watched, your Grace. I have taken the liberty of engaging the services of one of the younger footmen."

Eversleigh regarded his secretary through his quizzing glass. "I seem to have a houseful of spies," he commented. "We should perhaps hire ourselves out to the government for use against the French. That will be all, James. And, ah," be added as Ridley turned away, "if my household has not collapsed without the services of that footman for a few days, I could probably do without him for a while longer."

Ridley bowed his head. "He shall receive your instructions," he said curtly, and left the room.

Eversleigh rang for his valet again.

"A clean neckcloth, John," he ordered, "and my cane, please. Instruct the cook that I shall not be home for dinner."

Five minutes later, Eversleigh was again leaving the house to begin the tedious task of visiting every stagecoach stop in London in the hope of discovering some clue as to Henry's whereabouts. He tried not to think about where he would begin looking for her in the city itself if he could find no evidence of her having left it.

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Henry sat on the stagecoach for much of the day, although she had had a long wait after her dawn departure from home. She had an inside seat, which would have been a blessing on most occasions. But inside a stage, sandwiched between an amply endowed matron and a thin man in dark city clothes, was not the place to be on a sweltering hot day in July, especially when one was wrapped in a heavy gray cloak to camouflage the fine appearance of a peach-colored muslin day dress. Henry was conscious of leaning into the fat lady to her right, while the city man, gazing through the window to his left and apparently lost in thought, leaned into her left side, his thigh pressed knowingly against hers, his upper arm brushing her breast whenever a jolt in the road gave him the excuse to move. And it was a very bumpy ride.

Henry was thankful when they stopped longer than usual at two inns on the way and there was time to get out and stretch. Although she was hungry at both stops-she had had nothing to eat since the supper at last night's ball-she dared not have more than a glass of lemonade each time. After paying for her coach ticket, she had very little money left. And it had to last until she found a position somewhere. She smiled with gratitude, then, when the plump lady nudged her painfully in the ribs and passed her half of a meat pasty. Henry felt she had never tasted anything so good in her life.

The only thing that gave her any comfort at all on the interminably slow journey was the plan that gradually took shape in her mind. She would see Oliver Cranshawe plead and beg and squirm within the next few days. Revenge on him would never begin to make up for the ruin of her marriage and the loss of Marius, but at least it would give her great satisfaction and occupy her thoughts for a few days. She composed in her mind the words she would write to him.

It was late afternoon when Henry finally finished trudging the three miles from the coach stop to Roedean. How dearly familiar the house looked, she thought as she approached the main door. If only the door would open and she could find inside her father and Giles, the twins and Manny. How happy she would be! But perhaps not. Always from now on there would be Marius. His memory would prevent her from being completely happy ever again.

The butler himself answered the door to her knock. He and the housekeeper and a few underservants were the only ones who had been kept on by Sir Peter Tallant on a permanent basis. Other servants would be hired from the village when the family came down for the summer in a few weeks' time.

"Miss Henry!" he exclaimed in surprise, rushing forward to relieve her of the valise that was beginning to feel as if it was loaded with gold bricks. I mean' your Grace! What brings you into Sussex? If we had known, we could have prepared. And where is your carriage?" He peered beyond her into the empty driveway.

"I came on the stage, Trevors," she replied, "and I wish my stay here to remain a secret. Please, will you promise not to tell anyone?"

"Of course, Miss Henry, if you say so," Trevors assured her. She had always been a favorite with the house staff. She could twist them all around her little finger, her father had been fond of saying.

The saying proved to be still true. While Henry sat in lone state in the dining room partaking of a cold dinner, the housekeeper bustled around upstairs making sure that her bedroom was properly cleaned and aired. All the servants promised that no word of her whereabouts would be given to anyone. They did not ask questions, though they must have wondered what their little girl was doing at home scarcely six weeks after causing a local sensation by marrying a duke.

Henry waited until next morning before writing the letter to Oliver Cranshawe that she had planned the day before in the stagecoach. But she wanted to make sure that it went on the day's mail coach so that he would receive it the next day. She did not wish to be sitting around waiting forever. She enjoyed writing it a good deal more than she had enjoyed writing to her husband.

Dear Oliver,

You were quite right, of course. You said that I should be forced to see things your way soon. I see clearly that I have no choice but to comply with your demands for settling my debt. I propose to accept defeat gracefully. You will find me at Roedean. Marius believes me to be visiting for a week. So you see you will be able to claim your night with me without fear of interruption. If I like what transpires-and I begin to think that, after all, I may-perhaps I shall allow you to extend your stay. I shall be awaiting your arrival hourly.

Yours, etc.

The letter was sealed and handed to the butler. He promised to see that it was taken to the mail coach with some letters that Sir Peter's bailiff had ready. Neither of them remembered that the bailiff had arrived at the house that morning and had not been informed of the secrecy of Henry's visit. One of his letters was a weekly report of estate business to Sir Peter Tallant.

Henry's next task was to visit her father's gun room. He had been an avid hunter and had taught all four of his children to shoot. It was several years since Henry had held a gun in her hand; she would need practice, she knew. She examined them all and noticed that they were all gleaming. Someone in the household, probably Trevors, took pride in keeping them in top condition. After much deliberation, she chose a dueling pistol. It could be held and fired easily in one hand. It would be easier to hide on her person than a larger gun would be.

She found ammunition for the gun in a drawer. She carefully loaded it, scooped up a palmful of extra bullets, and ran up to her room, the pistol clutched in her other hand. She had noticed the night before that the breeches and shirts she had always worn for riding were still in her closet. She pulled on the breeches now and selected a loose white shirt. She filled her pockets with bullets, carefully pushed the pistol into the waistband of the breeches, beneath the shirt, and strode out to the stables.

She regretted the absence of jet. She wondered briefly if Marius would keep him or send him back to Roedean. Either way, it would not matter to her. She would not be able to take him where she was going. She chose the only horse from the stables that was likely to be reasonably fast, saddled him, and set out for the lower meadow, which was out of earshot of the house and of the tenants' cottages. It was almost completely surrounded by high hedges, and a fence ran down one side of it, too. Henry had never been able to understand why it was there. Of what possible use could a fence be on one side of a field?

However, it suited her purpose now. She gathered some leafy twigs from the bushes, balanced them one at a time on top of a fence post, and used them for target practice. For an hour Henry shot at the twigs, varying the distance and the angle. Finally she was satisfied that her aim was accurate, even allowing for the pistol's slight kick to the left.

"Now, you may come whenever you wish, Oliver Cranshawe," she muttered with a grim smile as she swung herself up into the saddle again.

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The following morning Giles was picking moodily at a plate of eggs and ham, letting the conversation of Peter and Marian wash over his head. He was feeling worried and guilty. He had spent much of the previous day at Eversleigh's house, going over and over again with Manny and the twins and that Ridley fellow the train of events that had led to Henry's disappearance. How could she have been such a little idiot as to have got herself into such trouble, and all for his sake? And where could she have gone? The only apparent possibility was Roedean, and Eversleigh had already had that checked with no luck. Ridley had thought it probable that she had very little money with her, and Betty was willing to swear that she had taken nothing of any value, except the sapphire ring. And Giles was pretty sure that she would never sell that. Even her gold wedding ring had been found in her jewelry case.