Mary Balogh: The Double Wager

Yours, etc.

The letter was sealed and handed to the butler. He promised to see that it was taken to the mail coach with some letters that Sir Peter's bailiff had ready. Neither of them remembered that the bailiff had arrived at the house that morning and had not been informed of the secrecy of Henry's visit. One of his letters was a weekly report of estate business to Sir Peter Tallant.

Henry's next task was to visit her father's gun room. He had been an avid hunter and had taught all four of his children to shoot. It was several years since Henry had held a gun in her hand; she would need practice, she knew. She examined them all and noticed that they were all gleaming. Someone in the household, probably Trevors, took pride in keeping them in top condition. After much deliberation, she chose a dueling pistol. It could be held and fired easily in one hand. It would be easier to hide on her person than a larger gun would be.

She found ammunition for the gun in a drawer. She carefully loaded it, scooped up a palmful of extra bullets, and ran up to her room, the pistol clutched in her other hand. She had noticed the night before that the breeches and shirts she had always worn for riding were still in her closet. She pulled on the breeches now and selected a loose white shirt. She filled her pockets with bullets, carefully pushed the pistol into the waistband of the breeches, beneath the shirt, and strode out to the stables.

She regretted the absence of jet. She wondered briefly if Marius would keep him or send him back to Roedean. Either way, it would not matter to her. She would not be able to take him where she was going. She chose the only horse from the stables that was likely to be reasonably fast, saddled him, and set out for the lower meadow, which was out of earshot of the house and of the tenants' cottages. It was almost completely surrounded by high hedges, and a fence ran down one side of it, too. Henry had never been able to understand why it was there. Of what possible use could a fence be on one side of a field?

However, it suited her purpose now. She gathered some leafy twigs from the bushes, balanced them one at a time on top of a fence post, and used them for target practice. For an hour Henry shot at the twigs, varying the distance and the angle. Finally she was satisfied that her aim was accurate, even allowing for the pistol's slight kick to the left.

"Now, you may come whenever you wish, Oliver Cranshawe," she muttered with a grim smile as she swung herself up into the saddle again.

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The following morning Giles was picking moodily at a plate of eggs and ham, letting the conversation of Peter and Marian wash over his head. He was feeling worried and guilty. He had spent much of the previous day at Eversleigh's house, going over and over again with Manny and the twins and that Ridley fellow the train of events that had led to Henry's disappearance. How could she have been such a little idiot as to have got herself into such trouble, and all for his sake? And where could she have gone? The only apparent possibility was Roedean, and Eversleigh had already had that checked with no luck. Ridley had thought it probable that she had very little money with her, and Betty was willing to swear that she had taken nothing of any value, except the sapphire ring. And Giles was pretty sure that she would never sell that. Even her gold wedding ring had been found in her jewelry case.

There were only two pieces of comfort. One was that Eversleigh had paid off the moneylender; so they at least knew that Henry was in no danger from him. The other was that Ridley's spy had reported that Cranshawe was behaving in no way out of the ordinary. He was still at home or frequenting his usual haunts. He had had no visible contact with Henry.

But those were small comforts. Giles cursed himself now for ever having been weak enough to accept help from his sister. He should have been man enough to go to Peter or Eversleigh and begged a loan. He might have known that Henry did not have that sum on hand, that she would do something silly in order to get it.

The worst aspect of the situation was that one felt so helpless. One did not know where to start looking or where to make inquiries. Giles had made some afternoon calls on mutual acquaintances. But the necessity of making his inquiries in such a roundabout way that no one would suspect the truth was frustrating in the extreme. He longed to grab each person by the throat and demand to know if she were hiding Henry in a closet somewhere. He did not know what he would do today. It seemed fruitless to go back to Eversleigh's, and yet he could not imagine himself staying away from there.

"What the devil is Henrietta doing at Roedean?" Peter was saying.

Giles stared, the words so pertinent to his thoughts that his mind could not grasp the meaning for the moment.

"Henrietta at Roedean?" Marian echoed.

The fact finally registered on Giles' mind that Peter was holding a letter in one hand.

"What is that? Let me see!" he cried, grabbing the sheet of paper from his brother's hand.

"Giles, really," Marian said, shocked.

"Evans says there that she arrived two days ago, alone," Peter explained to his wife.

"How very peculiar!" said Marian. "She had quarreled with Eversleigh, you may depend upon it, my love. I al-ways knew that Henrietta was too undisciplined to cope with marriage to a duke."

"Yes, and be is not the man to help her cool her heels, either," her husband agreed. "I confess myself disappointed in Eversleigh. I had thought him to be made of sterner stuff.''

"So she is there, after all," Giles was muttering. "I deserve to have my nose punched for not guessing. Of course, the little numbskull would get the servants on her side.''

"This needs to be investigated personally," Sir Peter said decisively, throwing down his napkin beside his empty plate. I shall see about having the carriage made ready immediately after luncheon. My love, will you have a valise packed for me? I shall be away from home for at least one night, I should think. I shall write to Eversleigh and tell him where he may find his wife."

"If he wants her back," sniffed Marian.

"I shall come with you, Peter," Giles decided impulsively. He abandoned his plate of still-untouched eggs and followed his brother from the room.

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Oliver Cranshawe had gone riding before breakfast. He had hoped to see the little duchess in the park. She had been lying low for the past two days avoiding him, he believed. The silly little chit! Did she think she could avoid him forever? If she did not reappear very soon, he was going to have to pay her a call. And to hell with Marius if he were there too. He could hardly prevent his cousin and heir from entering the house.

Cranshawe was quite determined to press his advantage. He must be very close to winning. And what a victory it would be. Once he had bedded the chit, he would inform Marius of the fact-probably by letter. He would go to France until the worst of his cousin's temper had cooled. Cranshawe did not fool himself into thinking that he would stand a chance in a duel with Eversleigh, even if he had the choice of weapons. But the marriage would be ruined. The duke was too proud a man to take her back after another man had possessed her, especially his heir.

When he returned to his house, Cranshawe thumbed idly through his morning mail before going in to breakfast. Nothing but a thin trickle of invitations; the Season was coming to an end. There was one letter that had apparently come from out of town. He took it into the dining room with him and set it beside his place on the table while he went to the sideboard to fill his plate with steaming food. He opened the letter after the first pangs of his hunger had been satisfied.