Free The Double Wager by Mary Balogh Page A

Duke of Eversleigh, to Miss Henrietta Tallant was undoubtedly the sensation of the Season. It was amazing enough that Eversleigh had decided to marry, but his choice of bride and the hastiness of the event (the wedding took place only three weeks after the betrothal announcement appeared in the Morning Post) had everyone agog.
    Eversleigh bore up under the ordeal with his usual fortitude.
    “Ah, James,” he said to his secretary on the same afternoon as he had proposed to Henry, “still at work? Am I really such a slave driver, dear boy?”
    “I am just finishing your speech for the House on Friday, your Grace,” James Ridley replied, lifting his head.
    “Ah,” said Eversleigh, “did I not speak a few weeks ago, James? Did I know I was to speak again?”
    Ridley gave his employer a long-suffering stare. “You did, your Grace,” he said. “You asked me last week to write this speech for you.”
    “Quite so,” Eversleigh agreed. “Some scintillating topic like the effect of the enclosure system on tenant farmers, was it not?”
    “Yes, your Grace.”
    “I do hope you have not made it an impassioned speech,” the duke said doubtfully. “That would not be my style at all, you know.”
    “I have merely tried to show that you care, your Grace,” said Ridley. “And you do care, as I know very well.”
    “Do I, James?” the duke said, looking steadily at his secretary from below lowered lids. He turned to leave the room, then stopped as if something quite insignificant had crossed his mind. “You might write out a notice for the Morning Post for me, James.”
    “Yes, your Grace?”
    “Announce my forthcoming marriage to Miss Henrietta Tallant, daughter of the late Sir Harold Tallant of Sussex, sister of Sir Peter Tallant, will you, dear boy?”
    Ridley was speechless.
    Eversleigh raised his quizzing glass to his eye. “Are you not going to congratulate me, James?” he asked.
    “Y-you are getting m-married, your Grace?” Ridley stammered.
    “In three weeks’ time,” Eversleigh said matter-of-factly. “Draw up a list of people whom I will want to invite, will you, James?”
    “Y-yes, your Grace, right away,” said Ridley.
    “Oh, no, dear boy,” the duke said with a sigh. “Tomorrow morning will be soon enough. I am too tired to see you work longer today. Oh, and, James,” he added, “do have breakfast with me tomorrow morning. I expect a visit from my cousin soon after the morning paper is delivered.”
    “Yes, your Grace,” said Ridley.
    The duke was quite correct. As he sat over his coffee the next morning conversing amiably with James Ridley, they heard the arrival of a visitor in the main hallway. Moments later, Oliver Cranshawe let himself into the breakfast room, unannounced.
    “Good morning, Oliver,” Eversleigh greeted him without looking up.
    “I fail to see what is so good about it,” Cranshawe snapped, slapping a folded copy of the morning paper down on the end of the table.
    “Have some breakfast, dear boy,” Eversleigh said, waving a languid hand in the direction of the sideboard. “Things never seem so bad on a full stomach, you know.”
    “I wish to talk to you, Marius,” Cranshawe said, not moving toward the food. He looked pointedly at James Ridley, who apparently did not notice the hint.
    “I rather gathered you did, Oliver,” the duke commented, “or you would not be out of your bed at such an ungodly hour. Sit down, please. It makes me tired to see you stand there.”
    “Marius, will you stop this game of being weary and bored and show some feeling for once. And put your quizzing glass down, for goodness sake. I know you can see perfectly well without it.” He pulled a chair noisily from under the table and seated himself heavily on it.
    There was a short silence as Eversleigh sipped his coffee and Ridley tried to melt into the furniture.
    “Marius,” Cranshawe exploded at last, “I want to know what is the meaning of this!” He picked up the newspaper and