Henry just gaped again.
"Will you go now, please?" he directed. "Ask the butler to send your brother back to me. I shall call on you and your sister-in-law tomorrow afternoon. Perhaps you would drive with me in the park afterward?"
And Henry, in a trance, obediently followed his directions.
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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.