"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.

The exception to all these trends was, of course, Oliver Cranshawe. He sensed that he was close to achieving the great goal of his life, and he intended to press his advantage. He was again on foot, nodding to acquaintances, smiling at them with easy charm. He joined the small crowd of men surrounding Henry's carriage, which she had drawn to a halt.

"Good afternoon, cousin," he called affably. I see that it is, as usual, well nigh impossible to get close enough to you to pay one's compliments."

Henry smiled. "But you always seem to find a way, do you not, Mr. Cranshawe?" she cooed.

"But, Henry," he continued, sending a sparkling smile in her direction, "you are not going to keep your husband's relative at such a distance, are you, and with a crick in his neck from gazing up at you? I should not refuse the offer of a turn in the park with you."

Henry's animated expression hid the near desperation that she felt as she looked around the group to see if there was any other man not on horseback, with whom she could claim a prior agreement to drive. There was none.

"I am afraid, sir, that I must return home soon," she said, returning her gaze to Cranshawe. "My husband and I have an early engagement this evening."

"Then let me ride with you to the park gates,' he said. "I have something I must tell you."

Henry bowed her head in unwilling acquiescence. While Cranshawe climbed into the high seat beside her, she laughingly engaged to dance with two of her eager admirers during the Spencer ball to be held on the evening of the following day.

She expertly turned the grays in the crowded pathway and started them in the direction from which they had come. "To the gateway it is, then, Oliver," she said grimly, staring straight ahead.

"Oh, come now, my dear," he said, "you need not be so stiff in my presence."

"I am not your dear, Oliver," Henry replied firmly. "And I cannot imagine anyone in whose presence I more wish to appear stiff."

He laughed softly. "Do you know, Henry," he said, when I first set out to befriend you, I thought it would be an utter bore. I was quite wrong. You are most delightful. I admire your spirit more than I can say. I look forward to unusual sport when you finally capitulate to me."

"Unusual sport is right!" she spat out. "You would go away with a few cuts and bruises for your pains, Oliver Cranshawe, if you even tried to behave improperly with me.

He chuckled again. "Soon now, Henry, you will have to admit that you have no choice," he said. "I offer you an easy way out, do I not? One night spent with me, and I shall give you a signed note to say that all your debt has been paid. You will be free, Henry."

"Do you think I would let you so much as touch me?" she hissed. "If you imagine that I would ever give myself to you for even one minute, you must have windmills in your head, Oliver."

He leaned closer to her and lowered his voice, though there was no one within hearing distance. "How do you know that you would not enjoy it, Henry?" he said. "I think your only experience so far has been with Marius, and I have good reason to believe that he would not make much effort to give you pleasure. I, on the other i hand, find that I have a genuine desire to find out what sort of passion you are capable of beneath the bedcovers."

Henry jerked on the ribbons and the horses drew to a halt. She turned on her companion, fury sparking from her eyes. "How dare you speak to me so!" she cried. "I am not so much in your debt that I have to listen to such indignities."

"Come away with me, Henry," he said, quite undeterred by her anger. "We will go to France and Italy, and I shall show you what life has to offer a woman of such vitality. "

"You can go to the devil, Oliver Cranshawe," she said. Then an arrested look came over her face. "What did you mean," she asked "by saying that you have 'good reason' to believe that Marius is not really interested in me?"

Cranshawe grinned. "I perceive that his opinion matters to you, Henry," he said, "What a shame, my dear. I have it on good authority that Marius married you only as a result of a rather sordid wager."

"What do you mean?" she demanded, chin jutting forward.

"It seems he was beginning to feel the need to find some female to breed," he said, flashing her his most brilliant smile, "to squash my hopes, of course. When he publicly announced that he despised all women and that it mattered not to him which female he chose, one of his cronies wagered that he would not, in fact, choose so carelessly. He was to choose himself a bride and marry her within some indecently short time. He won the wager, of course."

"You are a liar!" Henry cried. "Where did you hear such a stupid story?"

"Almost from the horse's mouth, my dear," Cranshawe replied. "Are you acquainted with Dick Hanley and his bride? They were sharing a box at the opera with Suzanne Broughton last evening. The wager was made at his bachelor party, it seems."

"I do not believe one word of what you have said," Henry replied. "You merely wish to discredit Marius in my eyes so that I will more readily comply with your demands."

Cranshawe laughed. "Henry, I do believe that you love the man, he said. "How very interesting, my dear. I see that we are close to the gates. I shall get down here. You will be hearing from me, Henry. I believe a few days will help you to see matters in a different light. I shall look forward to our eventual encounter. By the way, how do you like the grays?"