"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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And so the wedding took place, three weeks after the betrothal announcement, in St. George's, Hanover Square. Three hundred hastily invited guests attended and feasted at a large and lavish reception.
Finally, the Duke and Duchess of Eversleigh were alone in his town house, the pair of wagers won. They were to spend the wedding night in London and set out for a two-week wedding trip to Paris the next day.
Chapter 5
Henry was alone in her bedchamber. Until now Betty, the new maid allotted to her in her new home, had been in the room, helping her to undress and bathe, assisting her into a new white silk nightdress, and brushing her curls until they were dry and bouncy. Henry had been too busy. talking to Betty. and finding out about her family and her young man (his Grace's most junior footman) to really examine her new living quarters. Now she looked around her at the high ceiling, the tapestried walls with their delicate blue floral print, the pale-blue carpet underfoot, the royal-blue velvet hangings at the window and draped around the high four-poster bed, and the magnificent heavy furnishings.
She felt as if she were being royally treated, though she' could still not believe that she was now a duchess. She certainly did not feel any different. All the events of the previous three weeks were a blur in her mind. They had been filled with a whirl of visits, shopping expeditions, and fittings. Every day she told herself that the next day she would end the betrothal. She had never really believed that she would allow the ceremony to go forward. But each day she had postponed the embarrassing announcement. Sometimes it was because the twins or Miss Manford or the pets were being poorly treated again; more often, it was because she became paralyzed with a kind of terror when in Eversleigh's presence.
She had seen him almost every day during those weeks. She had gone driving with him, or he had escorted her to (lie theater, or he had been a dinner guest. But she felt no closer to knowing him. He held himself aloof and dignified. Ile never laughed or smiled. There was only that occasional gleam in his eyes that might have been a sign of humor, or that might have signaled contempt. His conversation was intelligent and pleasant, but he never revealed anything of himself. If any talk became too personal, he would turn the topic expertly with a comment that might or might not be a joke. It was so hard to tell.