quizzing glass to his eye and surveying the other occupants of the room in a leisurely manner. “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
H enry 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 things,” 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
“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
H enry 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 things,” 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
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