Poor Miss Manford was left to search the house for her charge. Fortunately for Penelope, she did not think of taking Brutus with her. She did look into the salon but did not search it because it seemed an unlikely place for the girl to have gone. She did knock timidly on James Ridley's office door and ask if he had seen the missing child.
"Don't distress yourself, Eugenia," he said soothingly, "she has probably gone to the kitchen for some food or has played a prank on you and has gone outside for some air."
"Oh, dear, but she is not in the kitchen," wailed Miss Manford, "and she can't have gone outside-she was wearing only slippers and has no bonnet or gloves. Where can the dear child be?"
"Dear child!" scoffed Ridley. "The girl needs a good spanking for upsetting you so. What is she supposed to be doing?"
"We were to embroider," Miss Manford said, "but she does not take to it. I fear very much that I shall never be able to teach her a lady's accomplishments."
"Maybe not," he said, "but I certainly feel that her disappearance has been explained. Depend upon it, she is hiding and will come out when she feels that there is no longer any danger of having to do her lesson."
"Oh, do you really think so, James?" Miss Manford asked, clasping her hands to her bosom. "How comforting you always are! So calm and sensible!"
He smiled. "You go back upstairs and ring for some tea," he suggested, "and don't worry about Miss Penelope anymore." And he patted her lightly on the shoulder as she turned to leave the room.
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Penelope was feeling a little bored by the time the salon door was opened and she heard the butler speaking to an unidentified visitor.
"You may wait in here, sir, until her Grace returns," he said. "I shall send some refreshment."
The visitor paced the room after the door had closed. Penelope peered cautiously around the curtains. When she saw that it was Mr. Cranshawe, she drew back into the shadows again and stayed very still. She had met the man only on one occasion when she and Phil had been out walking with Henry and he had stopped to talk, but she did not like him. He had been too friendly, too charming. His smile had been too broad, too practiced. She certainly did not want to be caught in the predicament of having to make polite small talk with him while they waited for Henry to return from her afternoon of visiting.
The wait was not a long one. A few minutes after the butler had brought a tray with decanter and glasses, Penel-, ope heard the door open and a rustle of skirts entering the room.
"Oliver?" Henry said. "I did not expect to see you here. "
"My dear cousin," he replied, crossing the room, clasping one of her hands in his and holding it to his heart, "I had to come here. Since we danced at Lady Sefton's ball four nights ago, I have hardly seen you. I have almost felt as if you were avoiding me."
"Don't be silly," she said matter-of-factly, and pulled away her hand. "It seems to me I have seen you each day and that we have talked or greeted each other on each occasion. "
"Yes, but always in a crowd of people," he complained. "You know that I feel closer to you than that, Henry."
"You must not say so," she said. "We are friends merely, and I have many friends."
"Oh, come, my dear, we are more than ordinary friends, surely," he cajoled, lowering his voice.
Henry stared. "You have been kind to me," she conceded uncertainly.
"Are you referring to the money you owe me, Henry?" he asked. "I have told you to forget it. Is that what has become between us in the last few days? Are you embarrassed?" He tried to take her hand in his, but she eluded him.
"Oliver," she said, moving behind a chair and placing her hands firmly on the back of it, "I shall repay the money, as I have promised. I am not embarrassed in your presence. I acknowledge you as a friend, but there is no other bond between us."
"Are you afraid?" he asked. "Has Marius threatened you since he came upon us in the park?"
"No, he has not!" she exclaimed firmly. "And, Oliver, I do not like the assumption you seem to be making that we are more than friends."
"You know that I admire you greatly," he said, coming around the chair and seizing her by the shoulders. "I cannot bear to see you with someone like Marius, Henry, who does not appreciate you and who disapproves of you and spies on you."
"He was not spying!" she cried indignantly.
"Have you not noticed, my dear, how he is always there whenever you and I meet? He is jealous. He has always had everything he wanted, Henry. There has never been anything he was denied. I hate to see him use you just as another possession. You deserve more."
"I believe you speak out of turn, sir," Henry said coldly. "It is of my husband and my marriage that you speak. They are not your concern."
"Oh, pardon me," he sighed, sinking into the nearest chair and hiding his face in his hands. "I have been unforgivably familiar. I just cannot bear to see a lovely, innocent little creature like you having to face the humiliation of having her husband flaunt his mistress before her face."
"What?"
He looked up, his face aghast. "Henry? You did not know?" he asked. "Oh, what have I said?"
"You will explain your meaning, sir," she said, her head held high but her face noticeably pale.
He groaned. "My wretched tongue!" he said. "But I may be wrong, Henry. In fact, I am sure I must be. Suzanne Broughton was his mistress before he met you. I am certain it cannot be so now. How could any man leave the embraces of so lovely a bride so soon?"
Henry said nothing. She clung to the back of the chair and stared at Oliver, seeing in her mind Marius dancing with Mrs. Broughton at the Sefton ball and on one or two other occasions, seeing him conversing with her during a soiree a few weeks before, seeing him sitting next to her at a recent dinner, seeing all the mature beauty and lure of the woman. And she had never even suspected. How naive she had been to assume that Marius was as satisfied by their sexless relationship as she was. And why did it hurt like a dozen sharp knives to think of that woman in his arms, that woman's hands in his hair, her lips on his? Henry's own lips parted in shock. The reason-of course! -was that she wanted Marius herself.
Cranshawe had risen and was looking at her in concern. "The best way to fight back is to show him that you do not care," he was saying. "Let me take you out one evening, Henry. Come to a masquerade with me."
"A masquerade?" she asked, dazed.
"Yes, Henry, a masquerade at the opera house. They are bright, gay entertainments. You would enjoy the evening. Your character cries out for more amusement than you can find in most drawing rooms."
"I do not believe I ought," she said doubtfully. "And I do not really wish to."
"You do not strike me as being the docile type of wife who would sit back and quietly endure her husband's neglect and infidelity," he wheedled.
She looked squarely at him. "Very well," she said impulsively, "I shall come." She did not pause to consider whether she really felt ill-used or neglected. She only felt bruised and bewildered.
He turned on her the full charm of his smile. "You will not regret it," he said. "I shall guarantee you a most entertaining evening, Henry. There is a masquerade on Wednesday night. Will you be free?"
"I shall," she said defiantly. "You will let me know when to expect you." She did not resist when Cranshawe lifted her hand to his lips, gazing into her eyes all the time.