While he was still wrestling with this problem, Giles was interrupted.
"Ah, here you are, Giles," said the Duke of Eversleigh. "This is the last room in the club I have thought of looking in. Are you acquiring studious habits in your rustication, dear boy?"
"Y-you were looking oking for me, your Grace?" stammered Giles, lowering his paper and staring aghast into the face of his brother-in-law. This was the last person he wished to see just now.
"I was merely looking for a luncheon companion, Eversleigh explained. "It is tedious to eat alone, you know. Nothing to think about except the food."
"Oh, yes, much obliged to you," Giles lied, getting to his feet and wondering what Eversleigh was up to. He was a very popular figure in the club. He could attract any table companion he cared to choose.
Fifteen minutes later, the two men were cutting into large platters of veal and vegetables.
"So, dear boy," Eversleigh said, abandoning the small talk that had occupied them thus far, "what have you found to amuse you in town?"
"Oh," said Giles evasively, "this and that."
"Ah. Parties?"
"Yes, some."
"The races?"
"Not often, your Grace."
"The muslin company?"
"Er, not too often." Giles was feeling decidedly uncomfortable.
"Cards?"
There was a pause. "Not any longer," Giles said finally.
"Ah," said the duke. "Excellent veal, is it not?"
"Eversleigh, what is the purpose of this interrogation?" Giles asked, putting down his knife and fork with hands that shook slightly and looking defiantly at his companion.
"Interrogation, dear boy?" Eversleigh replied, his sleepy eyes widening for a moment. "But I suppose you are right. Tell me, Giles, has my wife been paying your debts?"
"I… She…" Giles had paled again.
"You need not be afraid to speak out," Eversleigh said gently. "I wish to protect Henry as much as I assume you do."
"She seems uncommon afraid of you, sir," Giles said doubtfully.
Eversleigh considered. "I think not," he said. "I believe Henry is afraid only of herself. It irks her to know that she is a woman and might at times need to depend on a man."
Giles laughed shakily. "You do know her rather well, your Grace," he said with respect.
Eversleigh regarded his brother-in-law steadily. "Of course," he said. I happen to love her, you see. Now, tell me what you know, dear boy. I suspect that she has got herself into quite a mess."
Giles judged it expedient to tell Eversleigh everything Philip had told him that morning.
"A moneylender," Eversleigh mused. "Do you happen to know which one?"
"I suspect the one that I planned to go to," Giles guessed. "I believe I mentioned his name to her. Phil would be able to take you to the place."
"I prefer to leave the two amateur Bow Street runners out of this," Eversleigh said dryly. "And quite soon I am going to have to reintroduce those two to the schoolroom."
"What are you planning to do about Henry?" asked Giles.
Eversleigh favored him with a sleepy stare. "Don't worry your head about it, dear fellow," he said. "Your sister will be safe in my care, I assure you."
"Yes, I am sure she will be," Giles agreed. "It was the best day's work Doug Raeburn ever did when he trapped her into that wager.'
Eversleigh's eyebrows rose. "Wager?" he repeated.
Giles gave him a long look, then dropped his eyes to his plate. "Oh," he said, "she did not tell you."
"Suppose you tell me, Giles," said Eversleigh, "so that I can know if the incident merely slipped my mind."
"Oh, I say," said Giles, "perhaps she don't want you to know. "
The duke continued to stare at him disconcertingly through half-closed lids.
"It was just a piece of nonsense," Giles blurted at last, "Henry did not want to have a Season and she didn't want a husband. Then Doug Raeburn, our neighbor, you know, got her mad and wagered that she could not get an offer, by a certain date-I can't remember what-from a man he would name. We decided on you." He laughed in some embarrassment. "She won the wager."
"Yes, indeed," Eversleigh agreed softly, "and a certain high-perch phaeton, I believe? And you were quite right, dear boy. She had not told me."
Giles toyed with his food for several more uncomfortable, silent minutes.
Miss Manford had her promised talk with James Ridley also during the luncheon hour. She was surprised that much of what she had to say was not news to him. She was even more surprised to find that his source of information had been the Duke of Eversleigh himself. Ridley did show concern, though, over the news that Henry had been seen to visit a moneylender in an undesirable area of London.
"The duke feared as much," he observed. "I must tell him, Eugenia, as soon as he returns home." -
"Oh, please do not," she pleaded, hands clasped over her bosom. I fear the dear duchess will be in grave trouble if his Grace learns that she has been that indiscreet. Indeed, James, I should never forgive myself if I were the cause of bringing her into disgrace."
"You do not understand, my dear," her companion replied. "The duke seems genuinely concerned for her welfare. I believe he would be very relieved to know how he may rescue her from her difficulties."
"I don't know, James," Miss Manford said. "I should feel that I had betrayed the children's trust and dear Henry's-I mean, her Grace's-if word should get back to the duke."
"But there is little I can do on my own," Ridley protested.
"Oh, bless my soul," said Miss Manford, "is there nothing, James? You seem to have such strength of character and such practical ability.".
"And I am honored that you should turn to me, Eugenia," Ridley replied, laying a comforting hand over hers on the table for a moment. "What I shall do is have someone watch Cranshawe to make sure that he does not bother her Grace unduly. I am afraid there is little I can do to rescue her from the moneylender, since I do not have the funds with which to pay him off."
"Oh, you are a dear," Miss Manford cried, leaping to her feet and gazing admiringly down on her hero. I must return to the schoolroom. The dear children missed their lessons this morning and I do not wish them to grow up ignoramuses.
Chapter 12
Some of Henry's confidence and natural ebullience of spirit had been restored by the time she turned her phaeton into Hyde Park at the fashionable hour of five. She had paid duty calls on several acquaintances and had been made much of by male and female friends alike.
In the park she was soon surrounded by her usual court of young men, who enjoyed her company because they could talk freely in her presence without sending her into a fit of the vapors if they happened to say the wrong word. She also tolerated talk about horses and hunting and boxing. In fact, she was often treated merely as "one of the fellows." Most important, perhaps, was that Henry was a safe companion. She was safely married. They could talk and laugh and flirt with her without their intentions being misconstrued by a watchful parent. Henry was very obviously not even in the market for an affair. Either she had nerves of iron, the young men concluded among themselves, or she was incredibly innocent (they were inclined to favor the former), because even the most blatant sexual innuendo left her unflinching and unblushing. Soon no one even tried to proposition her. She was apparently either very afraid of her husband or else very much in love with him. And not many of her frequent companions could imagine Henry being afraid of any man.