Free The Double Wager by Mary Balogh Page B

flung it down in front of his cousin.
    Eversleigh studied the notice with minute care. “It seems quite correct to me,” he said. “The only point that troubled me, I must confess, is that Miss Tallant dislikes being called Henrietta. But I thought people might be confused if I announced my betrothal to Henry Tallant. Some few might even be scandalized, do you not agree, Oliver?”
    Cranshawe appeared to be holding his temper in check with great difficulty. “You cannot be serious, Marius. You have been so confirmed in your bachelorhood that you will make yourself a laughingstock with this announcement.”
    “Indeed so, Oliver?” the duke asked, eyeing his cousin with raised eyebrows. “I had not realized I was so decrepit with age. I suppose we never see ourselves as we really are, do we?”
    “The girl is barely out of the schoolroom,” Cranshawe added.
    “You think I shall not know what to do with her, Oliver?” Eversleigh asked. “I assure you, dear boy, I am still, er, capable, despite my advanced age. With superhuman effort, I might even beget an heir.”
    Cranshawe turned an interesting shade of purple. “You are doing this to provoke me, are you not, Marius?” he said, his handsome face contorted with anger. “You have always hated the thought of your title passing to me, have you not?”
    “You see, dear boy,” the duke replied, “it is not a pleasant thought to think of my title passing to anyone, when I must be dead first. Yes, you are quite right, Oliver. I find the thought abhorrent.”
    “You make a joke of everything,” Cranshawe accused coldly. “It is impossible to talk to you. But believe me, Marius, you are making a mistake. For your own good, I tell you you will be a laughingstock marrying such a little fright. The Duchess of Eversleigh with freckles and untamed curls and feet that tie themselves into knots in the middle of a dance floor!”
    Eversleigh did not appear to hurry. Yet, by the time the last word had left Cranshawe’s mouth, he was being helped none too gently to his feet with the assistance of an iron grip on both lapels of his coat.
    “I regret that you are unable to stay longer, Oliver,” Eversleigh said urbanely, his lazy blue eyes looking into Cranshawe’s brown ones, only inches away. “Just a piece of cousinly advice before you leave, dear fellow. Talking with too loose a tongue can be injurious to the health, you know.” He released his hold on his cousin’s lapels, dusted his hands off, lowered himself casually into his chair again, and resumed drinking his coffee.
    Cranshawe stalked across the room without a word.
    “Ah, don’t forget your paper, dear boy,” the duke said kindly a split second before the door slammed behind his cousin.
    “James, remind me to tell the butler about the draft in the hallway,” he said to Ridley.
    “Yes, your Grace.”
    During the afternoon, before he took Henry driving as promised, Eversleigh visited Suzanne Broughton. She had summoned him by letter and was for once alone in her drawing room when he arrived. She did not waste time in coming to the point.
    “Marius,” she said imperiously as her butler closed the double doors behind him, “what is the meaning of this ridiculous announcement in the Post?”
    “Dear me,” Eversleigh replied, a mystified frown drawing his brows together, “I shall really have to consider dismissing James Ridley from my service. He seems incapable of writing a communication that a reader might understand. You are the second person to ask me that question today, Suzanne.”
    “Oliver Cranshawe being the other, I presume,” she snapped.
    The duke inclined his head. “You must give me your felicitations, Suzanne,” he said. “Miss Henrietta Tallant has consented to be my wife.”
    “A mere schoolroom chit, Eversleigh!” she retorted. “You will be tired of her in a week. I know you better than you know yourself, it seems.”
    “Quite likely, my dear,” he agreed readily, “but