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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