"Well, I don't know those people," he replied.
"No, it's not that," she said, considering him for a while. "Is town life not agreeing with you?"
He shrugged. "It's well enough."
"What is the matter?"
"Nothing is the matter, Henry," he said impatiently. "Don't fuss so."
"I know you too well, Giles," she protested, refusing to drop the topic. "Is it Peter? Or Marian? Are they giving you a hard time? Why do you not come to live here? Marius would not mind, truly."
"Henry, don't be such a bumble brain!" her brother said lovingly. "Can you seriously imagine me moving in with Eversleigh? Anyway, Peter and Marian are all right.'; I think Peter is reserving his energies for sending me back to Oxford in the autumn."
"It must be money, then," she decided. "Are you pockets to let, Giles?"
"Nothing to signify," he replied, rising from his chair and pacing restlessly across the room. "You used not to be such a shrew, Henry. You were always a good fellow."
"And you used to confide in me, Giles," she returned tartly. "It is money, is it not? You have been spending on clothes and jewels, like as not, to keep up with your friends. How much do you owe?"
"Nothing that I cannot pay sooner or later," he said sullenly.
"How much, Giles?"
He paused and rocked on his heels. "It is not as simple as clothes, Henry."
She looked sharply at him. "Oh, not gambling, Giles," she cried.
He strode back across the room and sat down opposite her. "I started by playing just for fun and for small stakes," he said. "Then I lost a bit, and I owed money all over the city for boots and clothes and such. I thought if I played for higher stakes, my luck would have to change. I promised myself that I would stop playing for all time if I could just win enough money to cover my debts."
"And you did not?"
"I came close one night," he said ruefully, "but my luck did not hold. I lost all my winnings and more besides. And since then I have got in pretty deep."
"How much do you owe, Giles?"
"Oh, nothing to worry your pretty head over," he said airily. "I shall come about."
"But not by more gambling, Giles?"
"No," he agreed slowly. "I shall have to think of something else."
"But what?"
He hesitated. I shall have to go to the moneylenders," lie said. "With very careful prudence I shall pay it off eventually. At least I shall not have creditors hounding me at every turn."
Henry shot out of her chair. "Moneylenders?" she cried. 1 have heard of them, Giles. It is said that once you get into their clutches, you never get free. They charge interest that just builds and builds."
"Well, I have no choice," he said emphatically. "And it is not your worry, Henry. I ought not even to have told you.
"Indeed, I am glad you did," she retorted. "You must promise me not to go to a moneylender, Giles. I shall pay your debt. How much is it?"
He laughed mirthlessly. "I am afraid it is beyond any help you might offer, Henry. But thank you, anyway."
"How much, Giles?"
He stared at her for a moment. "Three thousand," he said.
"Three thousand!" she shrieked. "Giles, have you taken leave of your senses? You must have been in gambling dens every spare moment since you were sent down."
"Don't say anything to Eversleigh or to Peter," Giles said. "I shall work this out somehow, Henry."
"Yes, in debtors' prison!" she replied sharply. "Giles, I shall get the money. And do not worry, I shall not beg it from Marius. He has been extremely generous. I have almost enough. The rest I shall get easily. But you must promise me not to go to a moneylender. "Will you, Giles? Please?"
Giles was very doubtful and reluctant. At first he refused to accept help in any form from his sister. But gradually he salvaged his pride by declaring that he would accept the money from her as a loan, to be paid back as quickly as he possibly could. He promised neither to visit a moneylender nor to blow his brains out. He was to return in three days' time to collect the money from his sister.
As soon as he had left, Henry ran up to her room and threw herself onto the bed. She lay staring hopelessly up at the canopy over her head. She had no idea how she was to raise the money to help Giles. She had not lied to him when she had said that Marius was generous. He showered gifts on her and made her a very generous money allowance. But Henry was a spendthrift. She could not have money without spending it. And her main clothing bills went directly to her husband, without touching her purse." She knew without troubling to look that her purse held only a small cluster of loose change, a few guineas at the most. It would not go a long way to paying Giles' debt.
She considered breaking her promise and confiding the problem to Marius. She had no doubt at all that he would immediately, and almost without question, write out a bank draft for the full amount and would not even demand that Giles repay it. But she could not bring herself to do so, for two reasons. She had made a promise to Giles, and according to her code of honor, a promise was totally binding, especially when it had been made to her brother, with whom she had always been very close. Second, she could not bring herself to admit to Marius that yet another member of her family was in a scrape. She craved his good
opinion, though why this was so she had not stopped to consider. She could not tell him.
She did think of asking him for the money under some other pretext. But how could she justify asking for three thousand pounds? A new bonnet? New kid gloves? There was no possible way she could do it.
Henry was still searching her mind for a solution an hour later when she heard the voices of the twins in the distance and the barking of Brutus. She sighed and rose to ring for Betty. It was time to dress for dinner. She did not want to be caught lying on her bed in the daytime, something she almost never did. Sometimes Marius wandered into her room from the adjoining dressing room to talk with her for a few minutes.
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Henry was still wrestling with her problem the following afternoon when she took her phaeton for a drive in the park. She had stayed at home all morning and had instructed the butler to tell any visitors that she was away from home. But all she had to show for her concentrated thinking was a headache and a cross mood. She decided that she needed some fresh air and light conversation with some of her acquaintances. She felt slightly cheered by the court of young men who were soon riding alongside her, lavishly complimenting her on her new blue bonnet and soliciting her hand for dances at Lady Sefton's ball the following evening. She gave a special smile to Oliver Cranshawe, who was on foot and just bidding farewell to a trio of ladies, who were also out strolling in the park.
"Good afternoon, your Grace," he called, flashing his white smile and bowing gracefully as he swept off his hat. "Your beauty rivals the day, as usual."
"And you speak with a flattering tongue, as usual, sir," she replied. "Come, take a turn in the phaeton with me and cheer me up."
He readily availed himself of the invitation. "And do you need cheering, Henry?" he asked, looking at her closely.
"I have the headache and am feeling blue-deviled," she replied airily.
"I have never known you downhearted," he said quietly, serious suddenly and giving her all his attention.
She smiled. "It is merely a passing mood, sir. Tell me, how you enjoyed the opera last evening. I saw you in Lord Cadogan's box."
"Yes, I saw you too, Henry," he replied, "and would have waited on you during one of the intermissions if Marius had left the box. But I know he don't like me. However, I believe you are trying to turn the subject. Will you tell me what has happened to trouble you, my dear? You know me to be your friend, do you not?"