The Double Wager by Mary Balogh Page A

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 evening 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 cannot 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