The Double Wager (25 page)

“But, Manny—”

“That will be all, dear boy,” his governess had interrupted. “For the next hour we will converse only in French.”

Penelope had groaned.

Philip, remembering a conversation with Eversleigh and a narrowly averted thrashing, had decided that it would be ungentlemanly to argue further.

“Blood and thunder!” had commented Oscar from the floor of his cage.

Now this morning Philip had escaped for a few minutes on the excuse that he would go to the kitchen for a tray of milk and cakes. He dawdled about the errand, wheedling the cook into letting him sample some jam tarts fresh from the oven, and watching an undergroom polishing the duke’s riding boots. It was quite by accident that he arrived in the main hallway with his tray just when a messenger was delivering a small package to the butler and directing that it be placed in the hands of the Duchess of Eversleigh.

By the time Philip arrived in the schoolroom one minute later, milk from three glasses had been sloshed onto the tray and one cake was looking unappetizingly soggy.

“Henry is receiving a secret message again,” he announced excitedly almost before he could close the door behind him.

“What is it and who sent it?” Penelope demanded.

“I don’t know, but I mean to try to find out,” Philip replied.

“I bet Mr. Cranshawe is sending her gifts and trying to charm her,” Penelope said.

“More likely that moneylender making demands already,” Philip replied.

“It is probably merely some ribbons that she has had delivered,” said Miss Manford, “or some small piece of jewelry she has bought.”

“Well, when she goes out later today,” Philip said firmly, “Pen and I are going to go into her room again and see if we can find what it is.”

“Oh, bless my soul,” Miss Manford added, hands waving ineffectually in the air, “do you really think you ought, dear boy?”

Henry was out riding when the package arrived. She was in a very black mood. She knew that she ran the risk of meeting Oliver Cranshawe, but she did not care. If she saw him, she would gallop away from him. If he persisted in following her, she would ignore him or use her riding crop on him if she had to. But she had had to get out.

She had made Marius bring her home early from a dinner party the evening before, pleading a headache. And, indeed, it had not been just an excuse. She had ridden home in the carriage beside her husband in unaccustomed silence. He, too, had made no effort to sustain a conversation. But she had had a feeling, as she gazed out of the window into the darkness, that he watched her from beneath half-closed eyelids. He had accompanied her to the door of her bedchamber and kissed her hand as he said goodnight, with something she might have called tenderness had she not known differently. She had not slept before dawn, but had tossed and turned in her bed, in a fever of jumbled thoughts.

Cranshawe was not in the park. A couple of young men who were occasionally part of her court looked as if they were about to join her, but she smiled and waved vaguely at them and spurred Jet into a canter, and they did not follow.

Henry felt wretched in the extreme. Until her conversation with Oliver the day before, she had not known just how deeply in love with Marius she was. The knowledge that he had married her so cynically, with no feeling for her at all, except perhaps contempt, hurt like a knife being slowly turned in her chest. For a while she had tried to convince herself that Cranshawe had been lying, but she did not credit him with enough imagination to invent such an ingenious story. It was undoubtedly true.

It hurt terribly to know that the conditions of her marriage must be widely known. She must be the laughingstock—the little green country girl who had been picked at random because she was young and likely to be a good breeder. He would have chosen a horse, or even a cow, with more care.

She could not quite understand why, if he had married her only for her reproductive functions, he had not asserted his rights on their wedding night and continually ever since. Probably he had made that wager on impulse and had found himself repulsed when faced with the physical fact of a wife for whom he had no feelings. He had finally taken her, goaded on- by anger at her clandestine meeting with his heir. But he had obviously found the experience unpleasant. He seemed to find it preferable to be without an heir of his own issue than to have normal marital relations with his wife. 

Henry wanted to hate him. She did hate him! But she could not stop herself from caring. She had grown to enjoy his companionship, to need his attention and approval. She had come to love him and want his caresses. She had given herself to him completely on that one night they had had together, and had believed that for him it had been as earth-shattering an experience as it had been for her. It was painful and humiliating to know that it was anger merely that had provoked him and that all he had been feeling was contempt, or at best only a momentary lust. Henry had never wanted a man, had never wanted caresses or tenderness. She had certainly never wanted the dependency of love. Her fall was, therefore, all the harder. She had no defense against the pain of an emotion that she had never experienced before and that she did not understand.

She did not know what she was going to do. She could not stay with Marius. She would not live with him day by day, aching for every kind word or chance touch. She would not be thus shamed in her own eyes. But what choice had she? She was her husband’s property, totally dependent on him for the necessities of life. He had once told her that he would let her go, if she loved Oliver Cranshawe. Would he still be willing? It was almost unthinkable. There were only a few instances of divorce in living memory, and the divorced woman was ostracized from society for the rest of her life. Not that that would bother her, Henry thought. But where would she go? What would she do? She had had very little money of her own to start with. That little had all become her husband's when she married.

Henry's thoughts were interrupted at that point when she noticed that Jet's coat was beginning to lather. She realized with guilty dismay, that she had been constantly spurring him on, refusing to walk him for even a short distance. It was as if she had been trying to outdistance her own thoughts.

She rode her horse to the stables and satisfied herself that the head groom himself would immediately rub down poor Jet. She walked to the main doors and into the hall, where she paused to remove her riding hat and leather gloves.

“I have instructions to deliver this package into your hands at the earliest possible moment, your Grace,” the butler said, bowing stiffly from the waist and holding the parcel out to her on a salver.

Henry took it with a murmured thanks. Drat the man, she thought. Could he not leave her alone even for a day? What now? She went straight to her room and shut the door firmly behind her.

A couple of minutes later she sat on her bed, feeling the blood draining from her head. She believed she was about to faint. In one cold palm, shining accusingly up at her, lay her sapphire ring. In the other hand she clutched the short note that had accompanied it, written apparently in a disguised hand. Another sheet of paper lay in her lap.

Henry closed her eyes and let her head hang downward until she felt the blood pounding through her temples again and knew that she would not faint. She put the note down on the bed beside her for a moment and pushed the ring back onto the third finger of her right hand. She had never thought that she would be dismayed to see it again so soon. She picked up the paper from her lap. Yes, it was the contract she had signed and left with the moneylender. She really was free of that debt, then. She laughed shakily, but the sound came out very like a sob.

Henry picked up the note and read it again.

Your Grace [it said],

Your debt has been paid in full and your ring redeemed. Please do not be afraid. All will be well.

[There was no signature.]

Henry closed her eyes again and crumpled the note into a tight wad. It fell to the floor unheeded, to be found later by Philip and Penelope. How had he found out? She had not given him any indication about where she had got the money. And even if he had suspected, how did he know which moneylender? And why had he paid off the debt and sent her the ring and the contract? Did he delight so much in tormenting her?

One thing was clear, at least. If she had not been entirely in Cranshawe’s power before, she most certainly was now. She was more in his debt than ever. The money he had paid to redeem her loan amounted to much more than the original three thousand pounds. And, in addition to the money she owed him, he now held even more of her secrets. He could expose, not only Giles’ secret and her own indiscretion in turning to him for help instead of to her husband, but also the fact that she had dabbled in the underworld of moneylenders. Her reputation would be ruined beyond repair. Marius would never believe in her essential innocence. Not that his good opinion mattered any longer, of course.

And so Henry’s resolve to leave, to disappear somewhere far away from this life that she had ruined so thoroughly, was hardened. If she left Marius, her social standing would be ruined, anyway. Cranshawe would no longer have the power to hurt her. She supposed that he could still hunt her down in order to demand repayment of her debt. It was even conceivable that she would end up in debtors’ prison for failure to do so. But she did not believe that he would go that far. He was comfortably rich in his own right, she knew, and she did not think that the money would be an issue with him. It was her ruin and the humiliation of his cousin that were his chief objects. Well, he would have accomplished his goal. She believed that he would leave well enough alone once she had disappeared.

As for Marius, she did not think he would really care if she disappeared. His pride would be hurt, but his consequence was so great that he would live down the scandal with ease. He would probably be relieved to be out of a marriage that he had entered so impetuously. He would be free to return more openly to his mistress.

Henry’s only really big problem was the twins and Miss Manford. She did not suppose that Marius would keep them on after she left. It would be quite unreasonable to expect him to do so. The twins, of course, would go back to Peter. They would hate it, and she did not blame them, but at least he was their brother. They would not be turned away. They would not lack for anything, except perhaps for the tolerant understanding and yet firm guidance that Marius had given them. But they would survive. They were tough, as she was.

Manny was not so easily dismissed from her conscience. Henry knew that Peter would not allow her to return to his household. She would have to trust to the compassion of her husband, who had always treated the governess with gentlemanly courtesy. Surely he would help her find another post, or at least provide her with a good reference.

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.