"It is not for any of those things that I propose to punish you," the duke explained, strolling over to his desk and perching on the end of it. "It is your behavior to Miss Manford that I take exception to."

Philip stared, uncomprehending. "Manny?" lie said. "She is used to us. We are always playing pranks on her, or we forget and do things without thinking. But she knows that we mean no harm. She don't mind."

"On the contrary, Phil," said Eversleigh, "it seemed to me when I entered the drawing room earlier that she minded a great deal."

"That was only because Peter had been giving her a great scold," Philip explained. "She was not mad at us. And she would not have been so upset if Peter had not kidnapped Pen and me and brought us home so that Manny thought we were lost in good earnest. It was all his fault. "

"Was it, dear boy?" the duke asked. "Was not your disobedience to your governess at the root of the whole matter?"

Philip stared, unable to think of an answer.

"You see, Phil," Eversleigh said, standing and wandering over to the fireplace, where he took up his favorite stance leaning an elbow on the mantel, "ladies in Miss Manford's situation can lead a miserable life. Many people feel that they do not have to be treated with the same courtesy and respect that one would afford to a lady of independent means. A true gentleman will not make the distinction. You frightened the lady this afternoon and caused her to become an object of anger and contempt."

Philip continued to stare. He had turned noticeably paler. "I had not thought of it that way before," he said.

"No," Eversleigh agreed, "I thought you had not." He considered the boy in silence for a while. "Well, Phil, which is it to be?"

Philip straightened his shoulders. "I'll take the thrashing, sir," he said.

Eversleigh did not move. "Good lad!" he said. "If you realize that you deserve it, Phil, it seems that you probably do not need it. You are dismissed."

"Now, sir?" stammered Philip. "D-do you want me to return some other time?"

"Not particularly, dear boy," said Eversleigh. "I find myself tolerably contented without your company. But I will require it if I find you disregarding the feelings of Miss Manford again, Phil. Somehow, though, I do not expect it."

"Thank you, sir," Philip yelled, and he tore through the doorway before his brother-in-law could change his mind.

Chapter 7

Henry did not see a great deal of Giles in the few weeks following his arrival in London. He avoided the round of social events that she now attended almost with enjoyment. He did visit her and the twins occasionally, and she sometimes spotted him in Hyde Park during the afternoons, when the whole fashionable world, it seemed, paraded on horseback, in carriages, and on foot. He was always with a group of fashionable young men, some of them outright dandies. She noticed that Giles, too, now dressed in the height of fashion. His collar points were often so high that Henry wondered how he could turn his head or even see to right or left. His coats were so close-fitting that she imagined he must have been poured into them. His boots were so shiny that they must surely be polished with champagne, an affectation that was current among some of the young bucks, she had heard.

Henry was amused at her brother's obvious enjoyment of town life. She had always thought he was like she used to be, happy only in the country when free of social restraints.

She became alarmed for him one afternoon, though, when he visited. The twins were away from home. Eversleigh had begun to spend more time with them since their escapade at the balloon launching. On this particular day, they had gone to the Tower of London to see the gate leading into the building from the River Thames that condemned persons used to enter prior to execution. They

also hoped to see the dungeons and the axes used to decapitate condemned nobles.

"There are other things to see there, you know," Eversleigh had suggested in his languid way.

"Such as?" Penelope asked.

"Furniture, jewels, a magnificent view of London from the turrets."

"Ugh! Let us stick with the interesting stuff," Penelope replied.

"Quite so, Penny," he agreed. "An admirable decision."

Henry had reluctantly remained behind because she was expecting callers. The guests left soon after the arrival of Giles.

"You are very quiet, Giles," she remarked when they were alone together.

"Well, I don't know those people," he replied.

"No, it's not that," she said, considering him for a while. "Is town life not agreeing with you?"

He shrugged. "It's well enough."

"What is the matter?"

"Nothing is the matter, Henry," he said impatiently. "Don't fuss so."

"I know you too well, Giles," she protested, refusing to drop the topic. "Is it Peter? Or Marian? Are they giving you a hard time? Why do you not come to live here? Marius would not mind, truly."

"Henry, don't be such a bumble brain!" her brother said lovingly. "Can you seriously imagine me moving in with Eversleigh? Anyway, Peter and Marian are all right.'; I think Peter is reserving his energies for sending me back to Oxford in the autumn."

"It must be money, then," she decided. "Are you pockets to let, Giles?"

"Nothing to signify," he replied, rising from his chair and pacing restlessly across the room. "You used not to be such a shrew, Henry. You were always a good fellow."

"And you used to confide in me, Giles," she returned tartly. "It is money, is it not? You have been spending on clothes and jewels, like as not, to keep up with your friends. How much do you owe?"

"Nothing that I cannot pay sooner or later," he said sullenly.

"How much, Giles?"

He paused and rocked on his heels. "It is not as simple as clothes, Henry."

She looked sharply at him. "Oh, not gambling, Giles," she cried.

He strode back across the room and sat down opposite her. "I started by playing just for fun and for small stakes," he said. "Then I lost a bit, and I owed money all over the city for boots and clothes and such. I thought if I played for higher stakes, my luck would have to change. I promised myself that I would stop playing for all time if I could just win enough money to cover my debts."

"And you did not?"

"I came close one night," he said ruefully, "but my luck did not hold. I lost all my winnings and more besides. And since then I have got in pretty deep."

"How much do you owe, Giles?"

"Oh, nothing to worry your pretty head over," he said airily. "I shall come about."

"But not by more gambling, Giles?"

"No," he agreed slowly. "I shall have to think of something else."

"But what?"

He hesitated. I shall have to go to the moneylenders," lie said. "With very careful prudence I shall pay it off eventually. At least I shall not have creditors hounding me at every turn."

Henry shot out of her chair. "Moneylenders?" she cried. 1 have heard of them, Giles. It is said that once you get into their clutches, you never get free. They charge interest that just builds and builds."

"Well, I have no choice," he said emphatically. "And it is not your worry, Henry. I ought not even to have told you.

"Indeed, I am glad you did," she retorted. "You must promise me not to go to a moneylender, Giles. I shall pay your debt. How much is it?"

He laughed mirthlessly. "I am afraid it is beyond any help you might offer, Henry. But thank you, anyway."

"How much, Giles?"

He stared at her for a moment. "Three thousand," he said.

"Three thousand!" she shrieked. "Giles, have you taken leave of your senses? You must have been in gambling dens every spare moment since you were sent down."

"Don't say anything to Eversleigh or to Peter," Giles said. "I shall work this out somehow, Henry."

"Yes, in debtors' prison!" she replied sharply. "Giles, I shall get the money. And do not worry, I shall not beg it from Marius. He has been extremely generous. I have almost enough. The rest I shall get easily. But you must promise me not to go to a moneylender. "Will you, Giles? Please?"

Giles was very doubtful and reluctant. At first he refused to accept help in any form from his sister. But gradually he salvaged his pride by declaring that he would accept the money from her as a loan, to be paid back as quickly as he possibly could. He promised neither to visit a moneylender nor to blow his brains out. He was to return in three days' time to collect the money from his sister.

As soon as he had left, Henry ran up to her room and threw herself onto the bed. She lay staring hopelessly up at the canopy over her head. She had no idea how she was to raise the money to help Giles. She had not lied to him when she had said that Marius was generous. He showered gifts on her and made her a very generous money allowance. But Henry was a spendthrift. She could not have money without spending it. And her main clothing bills went directly to her husband, without touching her purse." She knew without troubling to look that her purse held only a small cluster of loose change, a few guineas at the most. It would not go a long way to paying Giles' debt.

She considered breaking her promise and confiding the problem to Marius. She had no doubt at all that he would immediately, and almost without question, write out a bank draft for the full amount and would not even demand that Giles repay it. But she could not bring herself to do so, for two reasons. She had made a promise to Giles, and according to her code of honor, a promise was totally binding, especially when it had been made to her brother, with whom she had always been very close. Second, she could not bring herself to admit to Marius that yet another member of her family was in a scrape. She craved his good