Henry picked up the note and read it again.

Your Grace [it said],

Your debt has been paid in full and your ring

redeemed. Please do not be afraid. All will be well.

[There was no signature.]

Henry closed her eyes again and crumpled the note into a tight wad. It fell to the floor unheeded, to be found later by Philip and Penelope. How had he found out? She had not given him any indication about where she had got the money. And even if he had suspected, how did he know which moneylender? And why had he paid off the debt and sent her the ring and the contract? Did he delight so much in tormenting her?

One thing was clear, at least. If she had not been entirely in Cranshawe's power before, she most certainly was now. She was more in his debt than ever. The money' he had paid to redeem her loan amounted to much more than the original three thousand pounds. And, in addition to the money she owed him, he now held even more of her secrets. He could expose, not only Giles' secret and her own indiscretion in turning to him for help instead of to her husband, but also the fact that she had dabbled in the underworld of moneylenders. Her reputation would be ruined beyond repair. Marius would never believe in her essential innocence. Not that his good opinion mattered any longer, of course.

And so Henry's resolve to leave, to disappear somewhere far away from this life that she had ruined so thoroughly, was hardened. If she left Marius, her social standing would be ruined, anyway. Cranshawe would no longer have the power to hurt her. She supposed that he could still hunt her down in order to demand repayment of her debt. It was even conceivable that she would end up in debtors' prison for failure to do so. But she did not believe that he would go that far. He was comfortably rich in his own right, she knew, and she did not think that the money would be an issue with him. It was her ruin and the humiliation of his cousin that were his chief objects. Well- he would have accomplished his goal. She believed that he would leave well enough alone once she had disappeared.

As for Marius, she did not think he would really care if she disappeared. His pride would be hurt, but his consequence was so great that he would live down the scandal with ease. He would probably be relieved to be out of a marriage that he had entered so impetuously. He would be free to return more openly to his mistress.

Henry's only really big problem was the twins and Miss Manford. She did not suppose that Marius would keep them on after she left. It would be quite unreasonable to expect him to do so. The twins, of course, would go back to Peter. They would hate it, and she did not blame them, but at least he was their brother. They would not be turned away. They would not lack for anything, except perhaps for the tolerant understanding and yet firm guidance that Marius had given them. But they would survive. They were tough, as she was.

Manny was not so easily dismissed from her conscience. Henry knew that Peter would not allow her to return to his household. She would have to trust to the compassion of her husband, who had always treated the governess with gentlemanly courtesy. Surely he would help her find another post, or at least provide her with a good reference.

All that needed to be decided now, Henry thought, was where she was to go and what she was to do. It was not an easy problem to solve. What did a destitute ex-duchess do to provide herself with the necessities of life? She supposed that she would have to try to get herself a position as a governess, though she recalled with dismay her lack of accomplishments. The only other possibility was to try to find some old lady or invalid who wanted a companion. She could not quite picture herself wheeling a crotchety old dear around Bath to take the waters, but beggars cannot be choosers, she decided philosophically.

In the meantime, while she was waiting around for a suitable position with which to fill the remainder of her life, Henry decided that she would go to Roedean. No one need know. The staff there had known her all her life. They would certainly not turn her away, and if she asked them particularly, they would keep her presence there secret from Peter. It would just be a temporary arrangement, anyway.

Henry decided to leave very early the following morning, before the servants were up. She did not believe that she would be missed until late in the day. She would take the stagecoach into Sussex so that she could not be easily traced. She would leave a note to be delivered to Marius late in the afternoon. She hated having to delay; it would have suited her better to leave immediately. But common sense told her that it was too late in the day to begin a journey. Anyway, she would be missed within a few hours. She and Marius were due to dine early at home before going to Lord and Lady Spencer's ball. She did not feel in any mood to playact for a whole evening, but she supposed that she would somehow live through the ordeal.

Henry sat down at her escritoire and set herself immediately to the task of writing her farewell letter to Marius. It took her a long time and many aborted attempts, but finally she was reasonably well satisfied with what she had produced.

Dear Marius,

When you read this, I shall be gone. I shall not tell you where I am going, because I do not intend ever to return. Please do not concern yourself over my welfare. I shall contrive somehow to live alone. I wish you may divorce me.

I feel that I should inform you of a large debt that I have incurred, since it is possible that payment will be demanded of you. I borrowed three thousand pounds from Mr. Cranshawe to pay some gaming debts that I was unwise enough to incur. Later, I borrowed money from a usurer to repay your cousin, but he has since repaid that debt for me. Thus, the money I now owe Mr. Cranshawe must be considerably more than the original. I am sincerely sorry that you may become involved in this matter.

Marius, I know that I am in no position to ask a favor of you. But I beg you to do one thing, not for me-I shall never ask anything more of you for myself. Please, your Grace, will you help Manny find a new post? You have been kind to her. I am confident that you will not leave her destitute.

Good-bye, Marius. I truly believe that I am taking the course that will be best for both of us.

Henry signed her name resisting the temptation to add a brief message of love. He must not know that this separation would be more painful to her than it would be to him. She folded the letter carefully and hid it in the drawer of her jewelry case.

The evening was as painful as Henry had expected it to be. Dinner passed tolerably well, as Manny, Mr. Ridley, and the twins were also present. Conversation was general, and Henry was able to withdraw into herself and take her silent farewell of the table's occupants. Phil and Penny were boisterous and frequently troublesome, but she loved them fiercely. They reminded her so strongly of the golden age of her own life, when she had been at home with Giles and his cronies for friends, when she had not had to worry about society and what it would think of her, when she had had no idea of the existence of love and longing. It would be hard to leave them. She would see them again, no doubt. But it might be years in the future. They might be quite grown-up. They would certainly be changed.

It was hard, too, to know that Manny was facing a difficult time, and that she, Henry, was largely responsible. The governess was more like a family member than a servant. She was a sweet and sensitive person. It would hurt her to be severed from the family she had served for so many years. Henry shuddered inwardly when she recalled that soon she would know what it was like to be in a situation like Manny's, not really belonging anywhere, not secure in any position.

She watched Mr. Ridley as he talked knowledgeably about the growth of factories in the northern towns and about the changes in society that would surely occur before long. He was a dry and sober man, and yet she had developed an affection for him since her marriage. He was undoubtedly a man of integrity and was devoted to his employer. Even him she would miss.

And, inevitably, her attention turned to Marius himself, I looking darkly handsome in dark-gold satin evening clothes with gleaming white linen; his hair, longer than usual, was brushed forward around his face and over his forehead. He made conversation with each of the varied members of his household with a languid grace; yet each one, Henry noticed, was flushed with happiness. Each was made to feel important. What went on in the mind of the man? she wondered. She had been married to him for six weeks already, had spent time with him almost daily ever since, had conversed with him freely, had made love with him on one occasion. Yet she felt that she did not know him at all. So much seemed hidden behind the half-closed eyelids and the disciplined face that almost never smiled or displayed any other emotion, in fact. Reason warned her that he was a man to be despised, yet, intuition told her that he was a mail to be trusted and loved. She supposed it did not matter now which part of her brain was correct. After tonight she might never see him again. She would certainly never live with him again as his wife.

They sat side by side in the town carriage on the way to the ball, in silence for a while. Finally Eversleigh took his wife's right hand in his and looked down at her.

"You are very quiet tonight, my love," he commented. "Are you not feeling quite the thing?"