"Henry, my love, I think the hallway of our home is hardly the appropriate scene for such an impassioned embrace. Shall we discuss the matter in the drawing room?" Eversleigh asked, apparently unperturbed by the misunderstanding. "And, Phil, if you keep hopping around in that manner, dear boy, you will surely knock down one of those marble busts and Mrs. Dean will have your head, or mine."

Henry twined her arm through his as they ascended the staircase together. "The grays are perfect for my phaeton, Marius," she said. "I wanted to take them out this afternoon, but I remembered that you wish to be with me until you can be certain that I shall not break my neck. I shan't, you know, but it seemed only fair to wait after you had been so generous. Did you go out first thing this morning to buy them for me?"

"I have been trying to acquire them for several months,' Eversleigh answered evasively. I suppose our marriage finally speeded the matter on."

"Did you have to pay a great deal for them?" she asked, looking anxiously up into his face.

He looked back into her eyes, his own half-hidden behind his eyelids. "I begin to think that the cost was not too high at all," he answered smoothly.

The Duke of Eversleigh spent a few afternoons with his wife, sitting beside her as she drove her new phaeton, pulled by the grays. The conveyance was dangerous and daring for a woman; the grays were high-spirited and difficult animals. The combination should have been beyond Henry's skill and strength, but as she had predicted, she proved to be an excellent whip. She drove her dashing new vehicle with precision and apparent ease. Eversleigh's relaxed and almost-lazy posture beside her suggested that he was not at all surprised by his wife's skills. After a few days, she was to be seen driving in the park alone, with a groom up behind. Some members of the ton murmured about the amount of freedom the duke was allowing his young wife.

Although Eversleigh accompanied Henry to several eve-ning functions, he did not always dog her footsteps. Frequently at the theater he would leave their box during the intervals as soon as visitors came to call on her. He would wander into the hallway to converse with acquaintances, or enter other boxes to pay courtesy calls on their occupants. At balls he would frequently disappear into the card room after dancing once with his wife, leaving her to mingle with her growing number of friends.

And so Henry Devron, Duchess of Eversleigh, became something of the rage of London that Season. She was titled, rich, vivacious, and pretty in a thoroughly unfashionable way. Young men flocked to her. She was interesting to be with, with her refreshingly open manners and down-to-earth conversation. She knew nothing of feminine wiles and so, paradoxically, was extremely attractive to men; she was safely married and could be flirted with and dallied with without fear that an overbearing parent would demand a declaration from the man concerned. Soon after her return from her wedding trip, Henry had acquired a fairly large court of followers.

She seemed totally oblivious of her own popularity, seeming not to realize that there was anything unusual about having at least half a dozen men calling each afternoon, vying for the honor of taking her driving or of accompanying her in her own vehicle, crowding her box whenever she appeared at the theater or opera house. Eversleigh seemed well aware, but appeared not the least annoyed or alarmed by the phenomenon. In fact, he left the field clear for her court, though he usually looked over the individual members languidly with his quizzing glass before taking himself away.

And so it happened that, a little more than a week after her return to London, Henry came face to face with Oliver Cranshawe at Lady Emery's ball one evening. She had met him at her wedding and recognized him immediately as her husband's heir.

"Your Grace," he said silkily, bowing over her hand and favoring her with the full force of his dazzling smile, "you look even more lovely and sparkling than you did on your wedding day."

"Goodness," she said, laughing, "what a foolish thing to say. I am by no means lovely, sir, and if I sparkle, it is only because I am wearing the Eversleigh diamonds tonight. "

He smiled again. "Cousin, I see you are not to be flattered," he said, gazing with smiling gray eyes into hers. "But, believe me, it is so refreshing to see a lady who neither simpers nor affects boredom. You do enjoy life, do you not?"

Henry found herself warming to his friendly, open personality and to his handsome, youthful presence. "It would be foolish to pretend boredom," she said with some scorn… "Surely soon one would be bored in good earnest "

He laughed. "You are delightful, your Grace. i cannol tell you how I envy my cousin. Will you dance?"

"Certainly,"she said. "But I must warn you that I have a nasty habit of treading all over my partner's feet."

He grinned. "They say to be forewarned is to be forearmed, your Grace," he said as he led her onto the floor to join a set that was forming.

"If we are cousins," she said, "I think you must call me Henry."

When the dance was over and Cranshawe led her to the sidelines, Henry was surprised to find Eversleigh standing there, looking relaxed and at his ease. He had disappeared into the card room an hour before.

"Ah, Oliver," he commented languidly, "enjoying the festivities, dear boy?"

"I have been making the acquaintance of your very charming wife, Marius," Cranshawe replied, smiling down at Henry.

"Quite so," Eversleigh said, putting his quizzing glass to his eye and surveying the other occupants of the room in a leisurely mariner. "I always consider it such a bore to feel duty-bound to converse and dance with family members. In fact, I make it a practice almost never to do so."

"But who would call dancing with Henry a duty?" Cranshawe replied, bowing to her and smiling warmly into her eyes again.

Eversleigh's glass swept in the direction of his heir. "I,, certainly do not, Oliver," he said, "but then her Grace is my wife."

Cranshawe stood uncomfortably where he was for a few moments. Then he bowed to Henry. "If you will excuse me, cousin," he said, "I see someone that I must talk to."

"Good night, Oliver," Henry said, smiling a little uncertainly at him.

Eversleigh lowered his glass and looked at his heir. "On your way so soon, dear boy?" he asked.

Cranshawe bowed again and walked away.

"Marius," Henry said, turning to him with indignation in her eyes, "why were you so rude to your cousin?"

"I? Rude?" he said, raising his eyebrows in surprise. "But, Henry, I pride myself on always displaying impeccable manners. Will you waltz, my love, before the five young men converging on this spot arrive to whisk you away from a mere husband?"

"Absurd!" she commented, and laid her hand on his proffered arm.

Chapter 6

Henry renewed her acquaintance with Oliver Cranshawe two mornings later in Hyde Park. She was out unfashionably early, riding Jet, who had been brought to London since her marriage. A groom was riding within hailing distance of her. She became aware of Cranshawe cantering up alongside while she was 'in the midst of resisting the temptation to take off her feathered riding hat so that she could feel the breeze in her hair.

"Good morning, cousin," Cranshawe called, flashing her a smile and sweeping off his hat.

."Oh, good morning, Oliver," Henry returned gaily. "Is it not a beautiful morning?"

"All the more so since I saw you," he said, sweeping admiring eyes over her trim figure clad in moss-green riding attire and over her powerful, gleaming black horse. "That is a splendid mount, if I may say so, your Grace."

"Yes, is he not?" she agreed. "But I thought it was decided that you are to call me Henry."

His face grew serious and he looked earnestly across at her. "I understood that your husband did not approve of such familiarity, ma'am," he said.

Henry hesitated. "He was in a disagreeable mood the other night, was he not?" she said. "Is there some quarrel between you and Marius, Oliver?"

"Perhaps you should ask your husband about that," he replied earnestly. "On my part, there is no cause for bad feeling at all. I try my best to be friendly to my cousin. But I realize that it must be difficult for him to know that I am his heir. I assure you that it matters not at all to me, but I do believe that Marius feels threatened by my existence.

Henry looked at him sharply. "That is surely nonsense," she said.

He shrugged. "You must judge for yourself, Henry. I certainly do not wish you to see your husband in a bad light. I should prefer that you judged me harshly." He smiled rather sadly into her eyes.

"I shall do no such thing," she replied firmly. "I always judge matters for myself, sir. But I do believe family feuds to be silly nonsense."

He bowed from the saddle. "Can I tempt you to test your horse against mine, Henry?" he asked, seeming to consider it wise to change the subject.

"Oh, do you mean a race?" she asked, eyes sparkling again.

"Shall we say to the southern gate and back on the count of three?" he suggested.

Henry had never been known to resist such a challenge. Soon the few spectators who were privileged (or unfortunate) enough to be in the park at that morning hour were treated to the spectacle of two horses galloping full tilt down the grassy avenue of the park, their riders, one male and one female, bent low over their necks. They were almost abreast of each other at the turn, but Henry won the race with a few lengths to spare.